
Class T 1 (p I 
Book T 13 
Copyright N°. 

CJDPHUGHT DEPOSm 




ETHELBERT TALBOT 



MY PEOPLE 



SCO 



OF THE PLAINS^ 



BY THE RIGHT REVEREND 

ETHELBERT TALBOT, D.D., S.T.D. 

BISHOP OF CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA 



ILLUSTRATED 




HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

M C M V I 



[library of congress] 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 1 1906 


~T7Q\ 


7T~\3 


// Copyright Entry 
CLAStf /\ XXC, No. 

ihx 7 7s 

COPY B. 





Copyright, 1906, by Harper & Brothers. 

Ail rights reserved. 
Published November, 1906. 



TO THE 
LOYAL FRIENDS IN WYOMING AND IDAHO 

WHOSE LOVE HE WILL ALWAYS CHERISH, AND TO 

THAT LARGE COMPANY OP GENEROUS HELPERS IN 

THE EAST WHO HELD UP HIS HANDS DURING 

ELEVEN YEARS OF A MISSIONARY BISHOP'S 

LIFE, THESE REMINISCENCES ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY 

THE AUTHOR 



6>- W^ 



CONTENTS 

CHAP. PAGE 

I. Wyoming and Idaho in 1887 1 

II. My First Missionary Journey 17 

III. Old Chief Washakie 26 

IV. A Mining-Camp in Idaho 41 

V. A Visit to Clayton Gulch 56 

VI. In and Out of the Stage-Coach 70 

VII. The Cceur d'Alene Country 86 

VIII. The Tenderfoot and Old Pete 100 

IX. Some Wyoming and Idaho Missionaries . . . 116 

X. Two Familiar Types 137 

XI. Here and There Among My Flock 151 

XII. A Month in the Woods 172 

XIII. Tessy 185 

XIV. Making the Work Known 197 

XV. MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 215 

XVI. The Red-Man and Uncle Sam 241 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



ETHELBERT TALBOT F 

THE' REV. JOHN ROBERTS AND HIS INDIAN SCHOOL . Faci> 

REV. SHERMAN COOLIDGE 

OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

"A COMPANY OF SIX, BESIDES THE GUIDE" .... 

BISHOP TALBOT 

THE LARAMIE CATHEDRAL 

RT. REV. ABIEL LEONARD, D.D., LL.D., BISHOP OF SALT 

LAKE 

BRIGHAM YOUNG 

THE MORMON TEMPLE, SALT LAKE 

AN INDIAN TEPEE ON WIND RIVER RESERVATION . 
SHOSHONE INDIAN MISSION, NEAR FORT WASHAKIE, 

WYOMING 



oyitispiece 

g p. 12 

14 

3° 

' 174 

180 

198 

212 
' 222 

228 
' 242 

' 258 



PREFACE 

THE experiences herein related took place dur- 
ing the eleven years in which the author had 
the great privilege of ministering as a bishop to the 
warm-hearted and generous pioneers of the Rocky 
Mountain region embraced in the territory now in- 
cluded in the states of Wyoming and Idaho. Dur- 
ing that time, he had the happiness of knowing the 
people as they lived in the mining-camp, on the 
ranch, in the excitement of the round-up, as they 
followed their herds of sheep, or indulged in the 
recreation of hunting big game in the forests or sage- 
chicken on the plains, or as they beguiled the happy 
hours with rod and line in that angler's paradise. 

A more kindly hospitality no bishop ever received, 
and, as he recalls those years after the lapse of time, 
they are as vivid as the memory of yesterday's 
events. It has been a positive delight and refresh- 
ment, in the midst of the busy life of an Eastern 
bishop, to live over again the scenes so fondly 
cherished, and to summon before him the familiar 
faces of the friends whom he then learned to honor 
and to love. 

The peculiar conditions in whose atmosphere this 

is 



PREFACE 

recital was made possible no longer exist; for the 
advent of the railroad, and the consequent customs 
and usages of the East, have caused that civilization, 
which had in it all the fascination of romance and 
adventure, to pass away. 

Some of the stories with which this volume is 
made less tedious will no doubt be familiar to those 
of his readers who have heard the author relate 
them in his missionary addresses, when from time 
to time he would visit the East to gather funds to 
enable him to build the churches and schools in his 
widely scattered field, or to get men to aid him in 
the work of evangelization. 

If he has not laid as much emphasis on the diffi- 
culties and discouragements which he encountered 
as upon the brighter side of his experience, it is not 
because there were no obstacles to overcome, but 
rather because, in the retrospect, the more pleas- 
ant memories stand out in bold relief. Even when 
the anxieties and responsibilities of his official life 
weighed most heavily upon him, the writer was often 
vouchsafed some measure of that saving grace of 
humor which enabled him to meet situations other- 
wise insuperable, and to gather courage whereby 
he could with better patience await results. 

If in any small degree he has been enabled to put 
in more permanent form the picture of the life of 
the Far West as he then knew it, and thus to crystal- 
lize a civilization now almost, if not entirely, gone, 
perhaps he will have made some slight contribution 



PREFACE 

to the history of that typically American part of 
our country, not only on its ecclesiastical, but also 
on its social and economic side. 

Necessarily, in recounting the events so closely 
identified with his own life and work, these stories 
have assumed an autobiographical character to a 
larger extent than the author could wish. He can 
only humbly crave the indulgence of his readers if 
this feature should be more prominent than the 
canons of good taste might seem to justify. 

E. T. 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

CHAPTER I 

WYOMING AND IDAHO IN 1887 

IT was at the General Convention which met in 
Chicago in October, 1886, that the missionary 
district of Wyoming and Idaho was created by the 
House of Bishops, and I was elected as its first 
bishop. Until that time Wyoming had been placed 
under the provisional care of the Rt. Rev. John 
Franklin Spalding, D.D., Bishop of Colorado, while 
Idaho had formed a part of the extensive field com- 
mitted to the Rt. Rev. Daniel S. Tuttle, D.D., who 
had also at one time under his jurisdiction Montana 
and, more recently, Utah. As Bishop Tuttle had 
recently been called to be Bishop of Missouri, thus 
leaving Idaho without episcopal supervision, and 
as the rapid growth and development of the new 
State of Colorado demanded the entire time of its 
own bishop, it was deemed expedient to combine 
Wyoming and Idaho into one missionary district. 
When the telegram informing me that I had been 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

elected Bishop of Wyoming and Idaho reached me, 
I was the rector of St. James's Church, Macon, Mis- 
souri, and also head-master of St. James's Military 
Academy, which I had established in the same town. 
This was a school for boys which had grown from 
small beginnings to an institution demanding my 
entire time, and in which I was deeply interested. 
Therefore, when the summons came to go west as 
a bishop, I hesitated, for I had cherished the pur- 
pose of devoting my life to the work of Christian 
education among boys. After considering the mat- 
ter for about six months, I made up my mind to 
decline the honor of being a bishop and abide by 
my chosen work. 

This decision having been reached, I had already 
written to the presiding bishop, and was about to 
post the letter setting forth the reasons that impelled 
me to remain with the school, when, unexpectedly, 
I received a communication from another venerable 
and much-beloved bishop. This was the Bishop of 
Springfield, who, it seems, had nominated me in the 
House of Bishops. He had been my professor and 
my dean in the General Theological Seminary. He 
addressed me with great solemnity and plainness of 
speech. He reminded me that I had been chosen 
unanimously by the House of Bishops, after a 
celebration of the Holy Communion, in which the 
guidance of the Holy Spirit had been invoked. He 
said he had heard that I was about to disobey the 
authoritative command of my fathers and refuse to 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

take up the great work to which they had chosen 
me; that he understood the reason I intended to 
give was that I had a school to which I was attached ; 
that he had never heard of the school until recently, 
and that he ventured to believe few persons outside 
of the State of Missouri knew of its existence ; that 
no doubt the school needed, more than anything else, 
a new head, and would develop unsuspected strength 
if it could only be relieved of my presence ; that he 
was amazed that I should hesitate, as a good soldier, 
to obey when commanded ; that, in the great empire 
to which the Church was sending me, I should have 
ample opportunity to found schools and Christian 
institutions and to guide the plastic life of a new 
country. In conclusion, the bishop pleaded with me 
to have the courage to do what I had been bidden 
under the highest and most solemn sanction. 

As I thought it over, it gradually dawned upon 
me that the good bishop was right and I was wrong ; 
that what seemed to me a large thing was, after all, 
comparatively small ; and that it was a vain delusion 
to imagine myself at all necessary to the life of the 
school. Succeeding years have borne out the bish- 
op's prophecy so far as the school is concerned. It 
soon became large and rich and strong, and is now 
doing a work for the Mississippi Valley which it 
could never have accomplished with the limited 
means and poor leadership at my command. 

I was consecrated bishop in Christ Church Cathe- 
dral, St. Louis, on May 27, 1887. In the latter 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

part of the following July I left for Wyoming. My 
objective point was Cheyenne. I remember that 
Bishop Whipple, who officiated as my consecrator, 
said: "My young brother, Cheyenne is the richest 
town of its size in the whole world to-day.' ' The 
bishop had a son, Major Charles Whipple, pay- 
master in the army, whose headquarters were in 
that city. But even when the bishop spoke, a 
serious change had taken place in Cheyenne. It 
had until then been the home of the great cattle 
kings, and, no doubt, there was much truth in the 
statement as to its enormous wealth ; but the mem- 
orable winter of 1886- 1887 witnessed an almost 
complete destruction of the cattle on the plains. 
It was conservatively estimated that seventy-five 
out of every one hundred head perished in the 
blizzards that raged with such merciless severity 
during that long winter. So profitable had the 
cattle interest become that those engaged in it had 
felt justified in investing all they had in that busi- 
ness, and also in mortgaging their credit to the 
uttermost limit and going heavily in debt. The 
result was that, when the crisis came, not only were 
the cattle gone, but large liabilities and no assets 
wherewith to meet them faced those who had 
counted their wealth by hundreds of thousands 
and even millions. It took years for Wyoming to 
recover from the wide-spread and desolating losses 
then incurred, and the depression of feeling resting 
upon the little city of Cheyenne at the time of my 

4 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

first visit was pathetically evident. Still, the peo- 
ple were brave and full of hope under the wise 
leadership of their beloved rector, the Rev. Dr. 
George C. Rafter. A substantial stone church had 
been erected and roof put on, but there was no 
money to be had wherewith to complete the in- 
terior. A loan — long since paid off — was soon 
negotiated with the Church Building Fund Com- 
mission in New York, and the church was finished. 
The question of the bishop's residence at once 
confronted me. Cheyenne, Laramie, and Rawlins, 
in Wyoming, and Boise in Idaho, were all kind 
enough to invite me. At last a proposition from 
Laramie, agreeing to build a suitable house, was 
accepted. Here the State university had been 
located, and it was also less remote from the centre 
of the vast field. While the question was still 
pending, I remember that the venerable rector of 
Rawlins pointed out a mansard-roof house of con- 
siderable size, which he assured me would be given 
if only I would make that city my home. He added 
that, so far as meat was concerned, all I should have 
to do would be to step out on the hills adjoining the 
house and, with my Winchester, bring down a fine 
elk whenever it was needed. At that time there 
was only one railroad, the Union Pacific, which 
skirted the southern border of Wyoming, and, 
under the name of the Oregon Short Line, ran 
diagonally through the State of Idaho. My diocese 
comprised a territory larger than all the New Eng- 

5 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

land and Middle States combined, with the State 
of Maryland included; and from Cheyenne in the 
southwestern corner to the northern end of the 
Pan-Handle — touching the British possessions — in 
Idaho, by the course one had to travel, the distance 
was over fifteen hundred miles. 

I soon ascertained that the population was small 
and scattered in little communities, or grouped in 
mining -camps far away from the railway. Only 
ten churches were to be found in Wyoming, and four 
in Idaho. If the people were to be reached at all, 
it could only be accomplished by long journeys by 
stage or buck-board, or by mountain trails, impas- 
sable in winter. 

My impressions of the people who lived along the 
line of the railroad was that they were bright, in- 
telligent, and enterprising. While not irreligious, 
many of them, through lack of regular services, 
had become careless about attending church. They 
were glad to welcome the clergyman in their midst, 
and, whether church-goers or not, would often con- 
tribute liberally towards the maintenance of the 
work. In nearly every instance they had been af- 
filiated in their homes, "back East," with some re- 
ligious body. 

After having visited the places accessible by rail, 
I began to seek acquaintance with the remote set- 
tlements in the interior. Here the scattered popu- 
lation were chiefly engaged in stock-raising, includ- 
ing cattle, horses, and sheep. 

6 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

The blizzards that destroyed so many herds in 
Wyoming did not rage so furiously in Idaho, al- 
though causing much damage there. The large, 
open plains, generally without fences, gave ample 
range to the various herds. Each company or own- 
er had a brand which was duly registered, thus pre- 
empting it from use by others. This brand was 
burned on the new calves at the round-ups, of which 
there were two every year, in the spring and autumn. 
These were about the only occasions when the 
managers of the ranches actually saw their cattle. 
The herds, which ranged over a certain large district, 
were corralled, and driven by the cow-boys to one 
place of rendezvous, and then each owner "cut 
out," or separated, such of his cattle as were ready 
to be shipped to market, branded the calves, took 
account -of the stock, and made their reports. The 
cattle were then turned loose until the next round-up. 

One great source of loss in the cattle business in 
those days came from the unscrupulous thieves 
who, between the round-up periods, would catch 
and put their own brands on calves following cows 
belonging to other herds. After the calf was weaned 
it was impossible to tell to which herd it belonged, 
and the brand became prima facie evidence of 
ownership. These cattle, thus practically stolen, 
were called "mavericks," and so adroitly was the 
practice carried out that it was next to impossible 
to prove the crime. When evidence was secured, 
no mercy was shown the thief. Stealing cattle or 

7 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

horses became a more heinous offence than that 
of killing a human being, and was frequently pun- 
ished by the summary process of lynch-law. On 
one occasion a certain woman who had long been 
suspected, and who bore an unsavory reputation, 
when her guilt became unmistakably clear, was 
taken from her home by a party of men and piti- 
lessly hung. Such was the public sentiment in a 
matter of so grave moment to the chief business 
interest of the State that no jury could be found to 
return a verdict of guilty against the perpetrator 
of the deed. So well was this understood that fre- 
quently no arrests were made. It seemed neces- 
sary to strike terror into the minds of the evilly 
disposed by such heroic measures, unless, indeed, 
cattle - raising were to be abandoned altogether. 
One can easily see how great the temptation to 
steal and what abundant facilities were offered. 
Hence the deterring influences had to be corre- 
spondingly severe. 

It was not the custom at that time to feed the 
cattle during the winter, and they were left entirely 
at the mercy of the elements, which sometimes 
proved fatal. A new era has now dawned in this 
respect, and, through the increased area of irrigated 
lands, much hay is cut, and the large, open ranges 
have given place to fenced enclosures where the 
stock is carefully protected. This change is at once 
in the interest of mercy and thrift. Since it has 
been adopted, the percentage of loss from the severe 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

winters has been greatly reduced; and, while the 
herds have become smaller, the business has been 
more reliable and yielded better profits. It has, 
however, practically eliminated the cow-boy, who 
once figured so picturesquely in the life of the West. 

Horse-raising assumed at one time a large com- 
mercial importance and assured good returns. The 
horse was a better ''rustler," as it was termed, than 
the steer, and could make his way through the snow 
and find his provender, while the unfortunate cattle 
would starve. Hence, the losses in horse-raising 
were comparatively small, and, when the market 
was brisk, there was a large marginal profit. That 
industry has been seriously affected by the modern 
methods of locomotion, such as the trolley, bicycle, 
and automobile. On the other hand, there has 
been, from time to time, a greatly increased demand, 
on account of the war with Spain and the South 
African struggle, which called for large consign- 
ments of horses. The quality of the Western bronco 
— the product of the hard conditions under which 
he has grown — has made him famous for toughness 
of fibre and a certain kind of villany when his tem- 
per is aroused. 

Perhaps one of the most profitable industries in 
that western land in 1887 was sheep-growing. The 
high plateaus, foot-hills, and mountain lands, where 
the grass is very nutritious, furnished excellent 
pasturage for sheep, which, by instinct, can dig 
down through the snow and get their food, and thus 

9 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

survive the winter. One man often owns a herd 
numbering many thousand. A notable sheepman 
of my acquaintance possessed as many as eighty 
thousand head. The flock assigned to one sheep- 
herder numbers from two to three thousand, rarely 
more. The life of a sheep-herder is a peculiarly 
lonely one. Often months pass without giving him 
the opportunity of seeing a human being. His 
faithful dog is his only companion. He generally 
has a team and a covered wagon in which he sleeps 
at night during the winter, and wherein he stores 
the necessary provisions for his daily food. It is 
his duty to seek the best available pasturage, and, 
when the grass in one neighborhood has been ex- 
hausted, to drive the flock to a new and fresh sup- 
ply. It is not to be wondered at that such a life 
often ends in insanity. It is said that the asylums 
are repleted year by year by a large contingent of 
these unfortunates. Indeed, their lot is a most 
pathetic one, and they sometimes even lose the power 
of speech and forget their own names. Their condi- 
tion is often rendered more pitiable from the fact 
that between the cattle and sheepmen a most bitter 
antagonism exists. This has been caused by dis- 
sensions arising from the occupation of pasture-land. 
Where a flock of sheep has long run no food is left 
for cattle, for they eat the grass so closely and 
trample the ground in such a manner as to destroy 
it for other stock. Where the land all belongs to 
the government, one has, technically, as much right 

10 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

as another. The advent of a large flock of sheep is 
always resented by the cow-boy, and many have 
been the deadly feuds that have arisen. In the 
interests of peace, a sort of distribution is some- 
times made, allotting large areas to the sheepmen 
with the understanding that they do not invade the 
territory reserved for other stock. 

In addition to the population engaged in the 
above vocations should be mentioned those living 
in the valleys where farming is practicable by reason 
of the facilities there found for water from irrigating 
ditches. Through the large government appropria- 
tions made during President Roosevelt's administra- 
tion, this farming element is rapidly increasing, and 
is destined to become influential. Mr. Roosevelt's 
personal knowledge of the Far West has led him to 
see that the government could not possibly make a 
wiser investment than thus to redeem by water the 
millions of acres now practically desert land. The 
soil is very rich and produces enormously when sup- 
plied by water. I believe it was Senator Stewart, 
of Nevada, who, on the floor of the Senate many 
years ago, was pleading in vain for such an appro- 
priation. In the course of his remarks, he is quoted 
as saying, 

"Gentlemen, I do % not hesitate to declare that 
only two things are necessary to make that country 
one of the fairest and most attractive on the face 
of the earth. Those two things are plenty of water 
and good society." 

ii 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

At this point one of his colleagues, who was op- 
posing the appropriation and who was somewhat of 
a wag, rose and said : 

"Mr. Chairman, with your permission, may I ask 
the Senator from Nevada a question ?" 

"Certainly," said the chairman. 

"Did I understand the Senator from Nevada to 
say that plenty of water and good society are the 
only two things that his country needs?" 

"That is just precisely what I said," replied the 
Senator. 

"Then, may I venture to remind the Senator 
from Nevada that there is another region of which 
the Good Book speaks, where the only two things 
necessary are plenty of water and good society. I 
do not mean, of course, that, in other respects, Ne- 
vada is at all like that place." 

Still, the Senator was right, after all, and when 
the water is supplied, as it soon will be, that wil- 
derness must inevitably blossom as the rose. 

Before closing this description of the constituent 
elements that made up my diversified diocese, I 
must mention the Indians. Those on the Wind 
River Reservation in Wyoming were allotted eccle- 
siastically by General Grant to the care of the Epis- 
copal Church. Their first missionary was the Rev- 
erend John Roberts, who went to that reservation 
about twenty-five years ago. He was a Welshman 
and a university graduate. He was ordained by the 
great Bishop Selwyn, who had recently been trans- 

12 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

lated from the South Sea Islands, where he had 
done such heroic service. After his ordination, Mr. 
Roberts asked his bishop's blessing and permission 
to leave his native country and cross the Atlantic 
and devote his life to the service of the North Ameri- 
can Indian in the Far West. The bishop had a very 
high opinion of the young priest, and had already 
determined to place him in an important position, 
but his own missionary heart beat in loving sym- 
pathy with the cause, and, as much as he loved 
Roberts, he could not hesitate to wish him God- 
speed. The young clergyman, therefore, left for 
New York, where he offered himself to our Board 
of Missions for work among the Indians. At that 
time the Rev. Dr. Twing was our general secretary. 
It happened that the Bishop of Colorado, who had 
charge of Wyoming, was looking for a good man to 
send to the Wind River Reservation, where the 
Shoshone and Arapahoe tribes had just been settled. 
The Rev. Mr. Roberts's arrival was most opportune, 
and he proceeded immediately to the field of his 
labors. It was in December, and the journey in- 
volved the long stage -ride from Rawlins to Fort 
Washakie. The party was overtaken by a blizzard 
on their way, and narrowly escaped freezing to 
death. Upon reaching the Indian reservation, the 
new missionary was welcomed by the government 
agent and made at home by the officers and soldiers 
recently stationed at Fort W r ashakie. It was not 
long before he had established cordial relations be- 

13 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

tween himself and the two tribes. He so far over- 
came the difficulties of the two Indian dialects that, 
aided by the sign-language, he could make himself 
understood. His disinterested devotion to their 
welfare has been so evident that he has won his way 
to their hearts, and his influence over them has been 
most wholesome. They call him their ' ' big brother, ' ' 
and trust him implicitly. He is said to be the only 
white man who has ever been permitted to see the 
sacred pipe of the Arapahoes. His position has not 
always been an easy one. There have been times 
when, had he been a man of less discretion, good- 
sense, and humility, he might easily have lost their 
confidence on the one hand, or incurred the invidious 
criticism of the government officials on the other. 

I once said to Mr. Roberts, thinking that perhaps, 
with a growing family, he might wish a more com- 
fortable work, ' ■ My dear fellow, whenever you wish 
to leave your present position, I am ready to give 
you the best parish at my disposal." 

He looked at me with a sad expression, and re- 
plied, ''Thank you, Bishop, but I hope you will 
never take me away from my Indians. If you will 
allow me, I prefer to spend my life here among my 
adopted people. " It is not strange that they should 
love a man with such a spirit. 

For some years Mr. Roberts has had associated 
with him in his work the Reverend Sherman Cool- 
idge, a full-blooded Arapahoe priest. Mr. Coolidge 
was the son of a warrior who had been slain in a bat- 

14 




REV. SHERMAN COOLIDGE 
A full-blooded Arapahoe priest 



WYOMING AND IDAHO 

tie with the whites. His mother committed him to 
the care of an officer, and he was later adopted into 
the family of Captain and Mrs. Coolidge, of the army, 
who brought him up as a member of their own 
family. Having early expressed a desire to study 
for holy orders, and to return and preach the 
Gospel to his own people, he was sent to Shattuck 
School, Faribault, where Bishop Whipple took a 
warm personal interest in him. After being gradu- 
ated at Shattuck, he entered the Seabury Divinity 
School, and finished the course in theology. Subse- 
quently he pursued a post-graduate course at Hobart 
College. The case of the Rev. Mr. Coolidge furnishes 
an excellent illustration of what education and the 
refining influences of a Christian home may accom- 
plish for the red-man. This worthy clergyman is, in 
every respect, an honor to his race. He is a culti- 
vated, Christian gentleman. In physical form and 
feature he is a fine specimen of the Arapahoe tribe, 
tall, erect, broad-shouldered, and full-chested. His 
presence is at once commanding and dignified. For 
more than twenty years he has faithfully served his 
people. Recently Mr. Coolidge had the good fortune 
to marry a devout and accomplished young woman 
from New York. Miss Wetherbee had taken a course 
of study in the deaconess house in that city, and 
then went to the Wind River agency to assist the 
Rev. Mr. Roberts in his missionary work. She 
brings to the discharge of her duties intelligence and 
great enthusiasm, and her marriage to the Rev. Mr. 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

Coolidge will mean much in the way of advancing 
the spiritual and social condition of the Indian 
women and children. 

Such, in 1887, were the conditions, economic and 
religious, of the people to whom I was sent as the 
first missionary bishop of Wyoming and Idaho. 



CHAPTER II 

MY FIRST MISSIONARY JOURNEY 

IT was a typical Wyoming day in August. The 
air was crisp and cool and bracing. The stage 
left Cheyenne promptly at six in the morning. As 
one seated himself beside the driver on the high box, 
which is considered the choice place and must be 
reserved in advance, and breathed the ozone of the 
plains, a peculiar sense of exhilaration came over 
him. It was my first stage-ride in the Far West. 
I began to congratulate myself on the prospect of 
an enjoyable time. I have since learned, by long 
experience, that the best part of a stage-ride is the 
first hour or two. After one has ridden all day and 
all night, and perhaps the greater part of the second 
day, the idea of enjoyment has departed. They 
change horses every fifteen or twenty miles, and the 
driver is relieved at nightfall by some one to take 
his place, but the unfortunate passenger who is 
booked to the end of the route gets no change. On 
this occasion it was about four in the afternoon on 
the second day that I arrived at my destination. 
I was covered with alkali -dust, and must have 
looked as unlike a bishop as possible. 

17 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

As the stage halted and I alighted, I was cord- 
ially greeted by a man in his shirt - sleeves. He 
offered his services, and said he thought I looked 
like a parson. After a little conversation, I told 
him who I was. 

" Why, are you the bishop ? Well, I am delighted 
to see you. What can I do for you?" 

I asked him if he could tell me where my old 
friend from Missouri, Mr. Robinson, lived. 

''Do you mean Billy Robinson?" he asked. 

"Yes," I replied. "They used to call him 'Will- 
iam' back in Missouri, but that is the man." 

"Oh yes," said he, "I know Billy Robinson well. 
In fact, I busted broncos for Billy for two years. 
Billy is a fine fellow. Everybody knows Billy. 
And so you are a friend of Billy Robinson! How 
glad he will be to see you! He lives about two 
miles out of town. He has a big ranch, and is get- 
ting rich. Bishop, if you will let me, I will be 
proud to take you out to Billy's place." 

I thanked him for his offer. 

He then said, "I am sorry, Bishop, not to give 
you a carriage. It is a pity not to give a bishop a 
carriage, but there are no carriages here. This is a 
new town. But can you ride a bronco ?" 

"Oh yes, thank you," I replied. "I was brought 
up on a farm and educated on a mule and am 
familiar with horses, and I think I can manage a 
bronco." 

"Good," he said. "Now, Bishop, I have two 

18 



MY FIRST MISSIONARY JOURNEY 

broncos. One bucks pretty hard and the other 
bucks kind o' mild." 

"Well," said I, "suppose you let me have the one 
that bucks kind of mild." 

Accordingly, we were soon galloping towards Billy 
Robinson's ranch. My * bronco proved to be liter- 
ally a "mild" bucker, and only indulged that natu- 
ral tendency on one occasion, when I jumped him 
over a pair of bars, and my valise, which I was 
holding in front, fell on his neck. As we reached 
the outskirts of the little village, I remember my 
new friend said to me : 

"Say, Bishop, I want to put myself straight with 
you. I believe in a square deal. I don't want you 
to get the idea that I am one of your religious 
fellows, for I am not. I am a Bob Ingersoll man 
through and through, and all of us boys here are 
Bob Ingersoll men, and we take the Boston In- 
vestigator. My name is Billy Bartlett, and I run 
this saloon here in town. When I saw you get out 
of the stage, I thought you looked sort o' lonesome- 
like, and made up my mind to give you the glad- 
hand." 

I thanked him for his courtesy, and tried to set 
him at ease by assuring him that I did not think 
Mr. Ingersoll so bad a man after all ; that I thought 
him a good citizen and a kind father, and believed 
he loved his fellow -man; and that I had often 
thought that if I did not care what I believed as to 
the future, I might be a Bob Ingersoll man myself. 

3 19 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Especially," I added, facetiously, "if I were en- 
gaged in your line of business." 

"But tell me, Mr. Bartlett," I continued, "what 
is the Boston Investigator? I have often heard of 
Boston, but never, until now, of the Boston In- 
vestigator." 

"Ah," said he, "that is Bob's paper. It has lots 
of jokes in it, and Bob pokes fun at Moses and the 
Bible, and we boys all sit around the stove at night 
and laugh." 

So the conversation went on. He reminded me 
that "back East" he used to go to church, and that 
his uncle was a "Second Advent " preacher, but that 
he had not been to "meetin"' once since he came 
West, nearly ten years ago. 

"Why, Bishop," he added, "you are the first 
preacher that ever came to this town." 

I assured him that, as the town was new and far 
distant from the railroad, the church was a little 
late in coming ; but that I hoped some arrangement 
might be made to have regular services maintained. 

Soon we came in sight of Mr. Robinson's ranch, 
and seeing a man coming out of the barn, Mr. Bart- 
lett exclaimed: 

"There he is. That's Billy Robinson. Now, 
Bishop, you must just keep this bronco and use 
him the rest of the day. I have no further use for 
him, and to-night you can ride him into church. 
Billy Robinson will want to show you his cattle and 
horses and sheep and his fine ranch and irrigating 

20 



MY FIRST MISSIONARY JOURNEY 

ditches, and then he will give you a good supper 
and bring you in to meetin'. So, if you will ex- 
cuse me, Bishop, I will go back in town and round- 
up all the boys." 

"Oh, thank you very much," said I. "But I do 
not think that is at all necessary, Mr. Bartlett, for 
I sent your postmaster a number of printed notices 
announcing the service for this evening in the 
school-house. I also wrote him a polite note and 
asked him to be good enough to let all the people 
know of my coming in advance." 

"Ah, but Bishop, that plan did not work at all. 
No doubt the postmaster got your circulars, but 
he is the meanest Bob Ingersoll man in the whole 
business. He probably stuck all your posters in the 
stove. No, the people don't know you're coming. 
Why, I didn't even know it myself. So you must 
let 'me go, and I'll send out some cow-boys on their 
broncos, and we'll round-up every galoot in the 
country, and pack that school-house for you." 

With that remark he turned his horse around 
and was about to leave, when it occurred to me that 
I had made no provision for the music. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Bartlett," I said, "but do you 
sing?" 

"Now, Bishop," he replied, "who gave me away? 
Who told you that I sing ? You have caught right 
on to my racket. It just happens that I am a jo- 
dandy at singing, and I also play the fiddle and the 
organ." 

21 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"How fortunate I am," I remarked. "Then will 
you take charge of the music?" 

He demurred at first, and said he did not think a 
fellow of his kind was "fit for that business." But 
I insisted. I told him we should not try the chants 
or anything difficult, but simply have some old 
familiar hymns, like "Rock of Ages" and "Jesus 
Lover of My Soul." At last he said: 

"Well, Bishop, if you say so, it is a go. I'll do 
my best." 

After spending the rest of the day with Mr. 
Robinson, renewing the old associations and memo- 
ries of our life in Missouri, and enjoying the excellent 
supper so hospitably provided for me, we rode back 
to the town. To my surprise, the school-house was 
indeed crowded. Every available space in the little 
building was filled. Never in my life did I preach a 
sermon where I was given a more reverent and 
attentive hearing. As to Billy Bartlett, who pre- 
sided at the organ, he sang, as his friends said, 
"like a bird." After the service he came up to me, 
and, with tears in his eyes, grasped my hand. With 
much emotion he thanked me, and said : 

"Bishop, that talk will do us boys a world of 
good. That is the kind of stuff that we fellers need. 
Can't you stay over and give us another to-morrow 
night? There are some of the boys who couldn't 
get here to-night who would like to hear you. And 
are we never to have a church ? Can't you send us 
a preacher ? Bishop, if you will send us a preacher, 

22 






MY FIRST MISSIONARY JOURNEY 

all of us chaps will pitch in and support him and 
stand by him." 

It was not long after this visit that I was able to 
secure a young man for that region who proved most 
acceptable. Nothing could have been more admi- 
rable than the manly spirit with which he threw him- 
self into his work, and soon won the hearts of those 
sturdy pioneers; and I had the happiness to dedi- 
cate a seemly church which they so generously 
helped to build. 

It was a year later that I visited the same place. 
Meanwhile, I had attended the great missionary 
council which met in the city of Washington. It 
was held in the Church of the Epiphany, and Bishop 
Whipple was in the chair. It was late when I 
entered the crowded building, and I had some diffi- 
culty in finding a seat. Some one was delivering a 
missionary address. When he closed, Bishop Whip- 
ple arose, and, pointing his long finger towards the 
remote part of the church in which I sat, said: 

" I see the Bishop of Wyoming and Idaho has just 
come in. Come this way, my young brother." 

As I had had no intimation that I should be called 
on to speak, it was rather an embarrassing situa- 
tion ; but I had to obey. When I reached the plat- 
form, the good bishop put his arm around me, and 
said: 

4 'Now, my brother, tell us something about the 
progress of the Kingdom out in the Rockies." 

Having no speech prepared, I launched forth as 

23 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

best I could, and among other things told the 
people, as I have tried to tell my readers now, the 
story of Billy Bartlett and Billy Robinson and the 
bucking bronco. I dwelt upon the great kindness 
these two good friends had shown me, and described 
the solemn and impressive service in that little 
school-house on the prairies. I little dreamed that 
every word I uttered was being taken down by the 
reporter of the Washington Post. . The article found 
its way to Denver, and appeared in the Denver Re- 
publican and the Rocky Mountain News. It was 
copied in the northern Wyoming papers. Of all 
this I was blissfully ignorant. And now, after the 
lapse of a whole year, I was revisiting the scene of 
my first missionary visit. I had driven through a 
blinding snow-storm to Billy Robinson's ranch. 
He was expecting me. He bade me alight and go 
into the little sitting-room which was his bachelor 
headquarters. I was chilled from long exposure to 
the cold and wind. Billy Robinson was putting 
my horses in his stable. As I stood by the stove 
warming myself I could not but admire and wonder 
at the orderly neatness which characterized the 
little room. Just behind the stove-pipe was an 
evergreen wreath. Suspended from a pin within 
the circle was a clipping from a newspaper. Nat- 
urally I was interested in it. I thought it probable 
that it was the obituary notice of Billy Robinson's 
mother, who had recently died. I drew nearer. 
Imagine my surprise as I read the heading, "A 

24 



MY FIRST MISSIONARY JOURNEY 

Hustling Bishop from the Wild West." There was 
my Washington speech recounting my hearty re- 
ception by the two Billys a year ago. As I was 
engaged in reading it, Billy Robinson came in. 

"Ah, Bishop," he said, "I see you are reading it. 
Why, you gave us a great send-off. That speech of 
yours has been read from the Atlantic to the Pacific. 
As soon as I saw it I went out and made that wreath 
for mine. Billy Bartlett has had his put in a nobby 
frame, and says he wouldn't take a thousand dol- 
lars for it." 

Of course it was delightful to feel that they were 
pleased, and had not considered for a moment that 
I had committed any breach of hospitality. 

My good friend Robinson is still flourishing in 
his cattle business in Wyoming, while Billy Bartlett 
has given up his saloon and is making an honest 
living on a ranch away out in the State of Wash- 
ington. 



CHAPTER III 

OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

GENERAL GRANT, when President, adopted 
the plan of parcelling out the various Indian 
tribes and reservations among the several religious 
bodies engaged in Indian work. Thus it happened 
that to the Episcopal Church, under the leadership 
of Bishop Spalding, of Colorado, then in charge of 
Wyoming, the Wind River Reservation was allotted. 
That was early in the eighties, just previous to my 
going West. In this beautiful valley of the Wind 
River, embracing a territory of ten thousand square 
miles, two noted tribes were domiciled — the Sho- 
shones and the Arapahoes. Their relations were 
not of the most cordial character, for hereditary 
feuds and occasional warlike sallies had from time 
to time disturbed that perfect mutual concord so 
important for neighbors to maintain. But the 
government hoped that, as the reservation was so 
large, being over one hundred miles square, the two 
tribes could live far apart, and have abundant room 
wherein to avoid collision. It must be admitted 
that, for the most part, serious tribal difficulties 
have been avoided. Each tribe prides itself on its 

26 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

superiority to the other, and it would be deemed a 
disgrace for a Shoshone warrior to marry an Ara- 
pahoe maiden, and vice versa. The presence, how- 
ever, of a military garrison of Uncle Sam's troops, 
which has always been maintained by the govern- 
ment, has had a pacifying effect on any bellicose 
feelings that have from time to time arisen. 

Since the Shoshones migrated to the Wind River — 
indeed, long before that date, until a few years ago — 
they have had but one chief, old Washakie, as he 
was familiarly known. The Indian word Wash- 
akie is said to mean ' ' Shoots-on-the-fry , ' ' and may 
bear witness to the deadly and unerring aim for 
which the chief was famous. This reputation, 
coupled with his bravery, inspired much terror in 
the minds of the surrounding tribes. As a ruler 
of his people, Washakie was as autocratic as any 
Russian czar. In securing certain police super- 
vision over the Indians, the government agent 
soon discovered that it was wiser and, in the long 
run, more humane to let Washakie, with the full 
knowledge of the .commanding officer, exercise his 
unlimited monarchy, rather than interfere. The 
government learned that the chief could be trusted ; 
that he kept his word and meant to be loyal. The 
fact was also quickly recognized that his word was 
law to his tribe. If any insubordination mani- 
fested itself, it was wiser to allow him to suppress it 
in his own way than to send the troops among 
them. So the agent, on hearing of anything that 

27 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

required attention, would summon the old chief and 
lay the matter before him. No time was lost in 
effecting a remedy. If it meant that somebody 
must die, it seemed best that Washakie should do 
the killing rather than that the government should 
incur the odium of being the executor. On one oc- 
casion it was reported to the Indian agent that a 
certain Shoshone buck was in the habit of beating 
unmercifully his squaw. The chief was summoned. 

"Washakie," said the agent, "I am informed that 
Six Feathers is beating his wife. Do you allow 
your men to do that sort of thing?" 

"Oh," said Washakie, "sometimes we beat them 
when they are bad." 

"Well," said the agent, "I am sent here by Uncle 
Sam to see that such cruelty is stopped. Will you 
see to this case?" 

"Yes," said Washakie, "I will speak to Six 
Feathers." 

In a few days Washakie returned and said to the 
agent: "Colonel, Six Feathers no more beat his 
squaw. Me fix him." 

"Why, what do you mean, Washakie?" said the 
agent. 

"Oh," said Washakie, "me kill him. Me find 
him beating her. Me tell him white man say stop. 
Two sleeps go by. Me find him beating squaw 
again. Me shoot him, and drag him out to the 
rocks." 

It is needless to say that wife-beating from that 

28 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

time forth greatly abated among the Shoshones. It 
only cost one buck, and Washakie, and not the gov- 
ernment, had killed him. 

Tradition has it that some years before I knew 
him, Washakie himself had not been free from 
blame, in that he had disposed of his mother-in-law. 
But he was the chief and had absolute rights, and 
the government could not wisely interfere with his 
domestic rule. The story is that on one occasion 
Washakie went hunting. Before leaving he or- 
dered his squaw to move his tepee to a higher 
point of ground, for it was getting damp in the 
valley. He was gone a week. When he returned 
he was cold and tired and cross. Approaching his 
tent he saw with much disgust that the wigwam 
stood just where he had left it. He was not ac- 
customed to being disobeyed even by his squaw. 
Entering his home he said: 

"Did I not tell you to move this tepee?" 

"Yes," said his squaw, seeing fire in the old man's 
eye. 

"Then why did you not do it?" 

"Because," said she, "my mother would not per- 
mit me." 

Then there ensued a passage-at-arms between the 
chief and his mother-in-law, and Washakie, in a fit 
of unbridled rage, cruelly slew the offending old 
woman. 

I hope my readers will not unduly blame me for 
narrating this incident, for already it has brought 

29 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

upon my innocent head at least one serious repri- 
mand. It was in Buffalo, New York. I was the 
guest of a prominent rector much beloved by his 
people. He had sent for me that I might inspire 
some missionary zeal in the hearts of his flock. He 
told me that they were a kind and thoughtful 
people, and towards him personally most gracious 
and considerate. He said they would give any 
amount of money for their own city or parish, but 
that he had tried in vain to get them interested in 
the cause of missions, foreign or domestic. He add- 
ed that about a half dozen men of wealth sat in the 
front pews near the pulpit, and he hoped I might 
induce them to give liberally towards the cause 
which I represented. So I went at them. I told 
them of the poverty of my scattered flock on the 
big prairies; described how a few hundred dollars 
would enable me to send a clergyman here or there ; 
explained that with five hundred dollars, aided by 
the people themselves, I could build a much-needed 
little church. But my appeals did not seem to 
move them. Then I told them some pathetic 
stories of suffering and self-denial on the part of 
my missionaries. Again I tried the effect of some 
facetious incidents; but all in vain. Finally, be- 
coming desperate, I narrated the story of old 
Washakie killing his mother-in-law, and reminded 
my hearers that even such a cruel and hard-hearted 
savage as he had been had come under the fascina- 
tion of the Gospel story, and was now a good Chris- 




OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

tian. No greater testimony to the power of Chris- 
tianity could be given, I added, than that a man 
mean enough to kill his mother-in-law had been 
converted. Then the plates went round. One 
man tore out the fly-leaf of his prayer-book and 
wrote, "Call on me for fifty dollars for that old 
chief that killed his mother-in-law. My heart goes 
out to him." Another wrote on a scrap of paper, 
"I have given the Bishop all I had in my pocket, 
but call on me for twenty-five dollars more for that 
old chief." About thirteen hundred and sixty dol- 
lars was gathered in for the Indian school. 

After the service I received in the vestry-room a 
card. It was evidently from some one in mourn- 
ing. I asked the rector who the lady was. He 
said she was a devout and wealthy parishioner, and 
added: "See her, by all means." When she stood 
before me I saw there was trouble ahead. She told 
me she had been so much interested in the early 
part of my address. "But," she continued, "I was 
deeply disappointed that you told that horrible in- 
cident about that cruel old chief who killed his 
mother-in-law." She said she dearly loved her 
mother-in-law, whom she had recently lost, and 
that it was evident I had taken delight in venting 
my own personal feelings against mothers-in-law. 
It was not until I had assured her that no personal 
experience had inspired my recital, and that a 
strange and inscrutable Providence had denied me 
a mother-in-law, that she completely forgave me, 

3* 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

and produced a check for two hundred and fifty 
dollars, which she had brought to church for me, 
and we parted excellent friends. 

To return to the old chief. His hair had turned 
white when as yet he was a young man. His people 
explain it as having been caused by his remorse and 
grief at the loss of his son, a brave young warrior, 
killed by the Sioux. The circumstances were as 
follows: Washakie and a band of warriors, among 
whom was this son whom he idolized, were camping 
some distance from the reservation. The lad, with 
two companions, had gone with Washakie's con- 
sent to the hills for big game. While they were 
absent a band of hostile Sioux had surprised the 
camp and killed a number of Washakie's bravest 
and best men, but they had been driven off, and 
many of them slain by the chief's own hand. As 
the survivors were retreating the three young 
hunters returned. Washakie, in his rage and ex- 
citement, reproached his boy with being cowardly 
in running off in the time of battle, forgetting, for 
the moment, that he had given him permission to 
go. The young man, stung under the rebuke, 
asked which way the Sioux went, and seeing the 
dust in the far distance, followed with his two com- 
panions after the retreating Sioux. At last they 
overtook them, and killed and scalped several of 
the number, but in the fray Washakie's brave boy 
was slain and scalped. When his companions got 
back and told the story of his death it was nearly 

32 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

dark. Washakie, in great agony of soul, withdrew 
into his tent and threw himself on the ground, 
groaning, and in unutterable sorrow passed the long 
night. He was then in the full vigor of manhood; 
but when the day dawned it was found that the 
chief's hair was snow white, and ever afterwards he 
could not speak of his son without tears. It was 
thought that he blamed himself for unjustly taunt- 
ing the youth with cowardice, and thus driving him 
into that act of desperation that he might redeem 
himself in his father's eyes. 

Washakie was without fear, and his prowess and 
skill were so well known that hostile tribes dreaded 
him as invincible. Numerous stories have been 
handed down to illustrate how the old chief, some- 
times against terrible odds, put to flight his ene- 
mies. He was rather proud of his martial deeds, 
and during the later years of his life was wont to 
entertain himself and his friends by placing on 
record a sort of autobiographical sketch of his most 
noted victories. The method he adopted to ac- 
complish this was a striking one. He could neither 
read nor write, nor did he ever learn to speak Eng- 
lish with any facility. But he fell upon the plan of 
representing upon canvas his battles. On the four 
walls of his log cabin he tacked up strips of cloth 
three feet wide, and on that white background the 
old man would try his hand as an artist. For paint 
he used the red and blue and yellow pebbles which 
he picked up along the banks of the Wind River. 

33 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

With this primitive outfit he worked away until all 
around his room were to be witnessed the scenes of 
,his valor. On one occasion when I visited him he 
said to his friend and pastor, the Reverend John 
Roberts : ' ' Tell the Bishop I want him to see Wash- 
akie killing the Sioux." He would then point out 
with evident glee, beginning at the first, all his 
battles. In every case it was easy to recognize 
himself as the chief figure. In one instance he rep- 
resented himself as hiding behind a tree, while two 
Sioux, mounted on one horse, are approaching. 
Suddenly he lets fly an arrow that pierces through 
the bodies of both Indians, transfixing them in the 
agony of death. Again, he lies behind a log, con- 
cealed, as a party of Sioux draw near, all unsus- 
pecting. He fires upon them, and they reel back- 
ward from their horses in answer to his deadly aim. 
In another picture he is scalping a great savage 
chieftain whom he has slain in mortal combat. He 
would delight in recalling all the details and bloody 
conflicts wherein he never failed to come out tri- 
umphant. His heart had become tender, and he 
had received with a certain unaffected and child- 
like simplicity the story of the cross and the great 
love of the Saviour who had died upon it for him. 
Indeed, I have seen him moved to tears as I read 
the Gospel account of the crucifixion, interpreted 
to him by Mr. Roberts. And yet, with the old 
savage instinct still surviving within in his nat- 
ure, those reminiscences of the wild forest days 

34 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

of tumult and slaughter gave him evident satis- 
faction. 

The government for some years had made use of 
his services as a scout. His wide knowledge of the 
country, his fearlessness, and, above all, his loyalty 
to the flag, made him an ideal guide. He was also 
among the first of the Indian leaders to recognize 
the new era which was about to dawn upon his 
race, and to adjust himself and his people to the 
new conditions which it imposed. He early saw 
with prophetic vision that the only salvation for 
the red-man, destined to come into contact with the 
whites, was education, whereby his intelligence 
could be of use, and labor as a means of support 
and independence. He co-operated with the gov- 
ernment in providing schools for his people, and did 
all in his power to encourage them to till the soil, 
put in crops, and learn to earn a living. It was in 
the interest of a government appropriation for the 
better education of his people, and that he might 
explain the need of agricultural implements, that 
he once made a pilgrimage to Washington. 

The journey was a revelation to the old man. 
He had no idea of the magnitude of our country, 
its enormous resources, the hundreds of towns and 
cities through which he passed, and the countless 
numbers of white men in evidence everywhere. It 
overwhelmed at first and saddened him. He saw 
by contrast how comparatively small and insignifi- 
cant a factor in the great swarming millions of peo- 
4 35 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

pie the few scattered tribes of his own race consti- 
tuted. He also reflected that the white man's 
power and wealth and greatness came from in- 
dustry and agriculture and schools. He was philos- 
opher enough to learn the lesson that the day of the 
buffalo and the wigwam and nomadic life was for- 
ever past. 

As a friend of the church and the school, and a 
believer in the gospel of work and progress, Gen- 
eral Grant learned to love and honor him. After 
Washakie returned home the President determined 
to send him some present, that the old chief and 
his people might know how highly he valued his 
services. At first a horse was thought of as a suit- 
able token, but some one suggested that Washakie 
was rich in ponies. At last a saddle was decided 
upon, and General Grant gave order that no ex- 
pense be spared in making his old friend the most 
beautiful and appropriate saddle possible. Red and 
blue and yellow, bright colors that appeal to the 
Indian's fancy, were to be lavished upon it, and 
every ornament and convenience that art could 
suggest. The saddle was duly made and sent to 
the colonel commanding the military garrison for 
presentation. The fort itself had been named 
Washakie in honor of the chief. When the present 
arrived a letter accompanied it from the President 
to the colonel, suggesting that the saddle be pre- 
sented publicly, that all the Indians might appre- 
ciate its significance. The day appointed was an 

36 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

ideal Wyoming day, clear and bright. The Indians 
gathered in large numbers. By invitation Black 
Coal, the chief of the Arapahoes, was there with his 
warriors, while the Shoshones turned out with great 
enthusiasm. When all was in readiness the colonel 
asked an orderly to hold up the saddle in full view 
of the assembled Indians, among whom Washakie 
stood foremost. In a few well-chosen words the 
commanding officer reminded them that the Great 
Father, General Grant, had not forgotten Wash- 
akie's visit, nor had he failed to appreciate all their 
chief had done for the nation and his own people. 
He knew that in the early days Washakie had 
saved the lives of innocent women and children; 
that he had never been upon the war-path against 
the whites ; that he was a Christian, and a friend of 
the schools; that he believed in the importance of 
the red-man's learning to work in order to become 
independent and self-supporting; and that this 
beautiful saddle had been sent him as a slight 
testimonial of the great affection in which Wash- 
akie was held by the President of the United 
States. 

Meanwhile, Washakie stood profoundly moved by 
all that had been said. With his arms folded, his 
lips quivering, and tears rolling down his cheeks, he 
stood speechless. At last the colonel said : 

"Washakie, will you not send the Great Father 
some word of acknowledgment?" 

The old man hesitated a moment, and then re- 

37 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

plied: "Colonel, I cannot speak. My heart is so 
full that my tongue will not work." 

"Oh, but," said the colonel, "Washakie, you must 
try to say something. Just a word, that the Great 
Father may know how highly you value his gift." 

Then, struggling with his emotions, the old man 
said: "Well, colonel, it is very hard for an Indian 
to say thank you like a white man. When you 
do a kindness for a white man the white man 
feels it in his head, and his tongue talks. But 
when you do a kindness for a red-man, the red- 
man feels it in his heart. The heart has no tongue." 

Surely this simple eloquence of his grateful friend 
must have appealed to General Grant's noble 
nature, and added to the pleasure he felt in being 
able to honor so faithful a public servant. 

I have already referred to Washakie's religious 
nature and his interest in the church. He was a 
devoted friend to the Reverend John Roberts, who 
for over twenty-five years has been ministering to 
the Indians on that reservation. Again and again 
has Mr. Roberts assured me of Washakie's simple 
and earnest faith. Morning and night he was wont 
to pray to Him whom he spoke of now as the " Ind- 
ian's friend," and again as "the Son of God." He 
was baptized by Mr. Roberts a number of years 
ago when he was lying critically ill. It happened 
that from the hour of his baptism he began to 
grow better rapidly, and was soon restored to per- 
fect health. It was not strange that to a supersti- 

38 



OLD CHIEF WASHAKIE 

tious people this remarkable recovery should have 
seemed entirely due to the magic effect of the bap- 
tism. Therefore, the Indians flocked in great num- 
bers to the minister, begging him to baptize them 
in order that, they also might receive some of "the 
same medicine ' ' that saved the life of their beloved 
chief. It was difficult to make them understand 
that the real virtue of baptism was spiritual and 
not physical, and to make use of the occasion as a 
wholesome example for them to follow. 

The last time I saw Washakie was at the close of 
the Spanish- American War. I had not been at the 
reservation for a whole year, and had come back 
from central Pennsylvania to make my final visita- 
tion. He greeted me as usual as ' ' Big Chief of the 
White Robes," and begged Mr. Roberts to tell me 
of his sorrow at my leaving Wyoming; that he had 
not been well, and that he was growing old and 
feeble, and could no longer mount his horse from 
the ground without using the stirrup; but that he 
still prayed day by day to the Saviour. Then 
pausing, and looking earnestly at me, his face 
beamed with delight and satisfaction. He said to 
Mr. Roberts: "Tell the Bishop my heart is dancing 
for joy, because Uncle Sam's troops have whipped 
the Spanish." He was very patriotic. 

It was not many months after this interview that 
the brave old man passed away. The same faithful 
friend and clergyman ministered to him in his last 
illness, and it was gratifying to me to know that 

39 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the loyal old warrior remembered me in his last 
hours. He was no longer able to speak, but he said 
to his minister in the sign-language: "Tell the good 
friend who has gone East that Washakie has found 
the right trail." 



CHAPTER IV 

A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

AS Bishop of Wyoming and Idaho my Sundays 
i\ during the summer months were usually passed 
in the mining-camps of Idaho. At Chalice, Bay 
Horse, Clayton, Silver City, Idaho City, Placerville, 
Murray, Wallace, Wardner, and many others, ser- 
vices were held annually, and in some of these 
places churches were erected and clergymen main- 
tained. In those days the visit of a bishop was an 
occasion of unusual interest. The camps, as a rule, 
were far from a railroad, and the annual visit of the 
bishop brought into the life of the place a new in- 
terest which, for the time being, was all absorbing. 
Especially was this the case where, as often hap- 
pened, the bishop was the only minister of any re- 
ligious body who visited the settlement from year 
to year. If any of the young people were looking 
forward to being married, the important question 
was, "When is the Bishop coming?" He could not 
be expected to make so long a journey simply to 
perform the ceremony, but it was often possible to 
so time the event as to have it coincide with his 
visit, and hence it was desirable that the date of 

41 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

his coming should be widely published in the local 
papers some months in advance. Then there were 
the children to be baptized, when a feast was gen- 
erally given and the neighbors invited to be present. 

I recall very vividly my first visit to a certain 
mining-camp. It involved a stage-ride of seventy- 
five miles over a rough mountain-road. I reached 
the place about sundown on Friday evening. As I 
alighted from the stage-coach in front of the hotel 
a little man demurely presented himself. He ex- 
tended his hand and asked: 

"Is this the Bishop?" 

"Yes," I replied. 

"Well, Bishop, I am Brother May, the new min- 
ister. I arrived only yesterday. I am so glad to 
see you, Bishop; for this is the most God-forsaken 
hole I ever struck." 

"Oh, well, do not be discouraged, my good 
brother," I answered, "for, if it is such a place as 
you describe, you and I are much needed here, and 
we shall find plenty of work to do. I shall see 
you a little later, and we shall have a good talk." 

So I passed on into the hotel. As I registered 
my name I noticed behind the counter all the at- 
tractive paraphernalia of a first-class saloon. I was 
dusty and tired and hungry. After having made 
myself somewhat presentable, I was soon eagerly 
paying my respects to the various dishes set before 
me in the dining-room. Hunger is, indeed, the best 
sauce, and how I did relish the food in the mining- 

42 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

camps after those stage-rides over the mountains! 
Dinner over, I returned to the hotel office. There 
I found Brother May awaiting me. I offered him a 
cigar, but he declined, with a look of some surprise 
that a bishop should be addicted to such a vice. I 
proposed a stroll up the canon v for, after sitting on 
the stage-coach all day, I felt the need of a walk. 
Brother May was very communicative. He pro- 
ceeded to tell me the story of his life. He said he 
had been living in San Francisco; that as a boy he 
had been apprenticed to a printer, and had learned to 
set type, and might have done well, but had fallen 
into bad company and acquired the habit of drink; 
that he had also been addicted to gambling ; that he 
had gone from bad to worse, until finally he had 
lost his position and his friends, and was an outcast. 
About that time there was a great revival in the 
city. He dropped in one night and became in- 
terested. He was gradually led to see the evil of 
his way, and determined, with God's help, to lead a 
new life. His conversion was so unmistakably the 
work of the spirit of God that he felt he must con- 
secrate the remainder of his days to the preaching of 
the Gospel. He was over thirty years of age. He 
had no time to lose. The authorities of his church 
advised him to go to some theological seminary and 
prepare himself; but he told them that he knew the 
story of the cross, and the love of God, and felt 
eager to proclaim the message to men. He asked 
for no large place, no important church. Indeed, 

43 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

he begged them to send him to the most neglected 
and sinful place to be found. "And so, Bishop," 
he said, "they sent me here. I came only yester- 
day. This is my first charge, and my church has 
certainly sent me to the most God-forsaken hole it 
could find." 

I again tried to reassure him, and suggested that 
while, as he said, there were many saloons in the 
camp, it was not strange that such a situation 
should obtain, as there was no church and no min- 
ister before he came. I also expressed the hope 
that he would find the people kindly and warm- 
hearted and ready to co-operate with him in his 
efforts to do them good. But he evidently con- 
sidered the prospect almost hopeless. We arranged 
that I should preach in the dance-hall on the morn- 
ing and evening of the approaching Sunday, and 
that he should hold forth at four o'clock in the 
afternoon. I told him that at my eleven-o'clock 
service I should take pleasure in announcing his 
appointment, and also formally introduce him to 
his new flock, and ask him to say a word to them. 
This conversation took place Friday evening. 

After enjoying a good, refreshing night's sleep, I 
found myself ready on Saturday morning to pre- 
pare for my Sunday duties. First of all, it was im- 
portant to make sure of my congregation. I had 
come so far that I did not like the idea of a mere 
handful of women and children. I longed to get 
hold of the men. The main street seemed full of 

44 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

miners. It was pay-day, and the place presented a 
sort of holiday appearance. It occurred to me that 
it was a good opportunity to become acquainted. 
As I walked down the street I saw advancing tow- 
ards me an elegantly dressed gentleman with large 
diamonds shining upon his spotless linen. There 
were seven saloons in a row. As I drew near my 
handsome young friend, and was about to extend 
my hand, he surveyed me, concluded I was a par- 
son, and might wish to interview him on some sub- 
ject with which he was not familiar, and suddenly 
disappeared into one of the saloons. The experi- 
ence was a little discomfiting, but I summoned up 
courage and determined to try again. The next 
man was in his shirt - sleeves, but had an open, 
frank countenance. I assumed as gracious and 
friendly an aspect as I could command, and was 
about to greet him, when he, too, darted into a 
saloon. 

Twice defeated, I went back to the hotel, and 
asked Colonel Burns, the proprietor, to let me 
have some large writing-paper. In a bold hand I 
wrote out a few notices. I announced that, as 
Bishop of Idaho, I had come to the camp, and 
would preach the next morning, Sunday, at eleven 
o'clock, and in the evening at eight; that both ser- 
vices would be in the dance-hall. All were cordially 
invited to attend. Then the colonel let me have 
some tacks. I put up a notice at the hotel, at the 
post-office, at the large store, and at the black- 

45 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

smith's shop. I then stood off and looked to see if 
any one would read my notices. But, alas, there 
were already so many notices ahead of mine! One 
announced an exciting horse-race Sunday afternoon, 
a second a mine to be sold, a third a ranch to be 
rented, etc. I soon discovered that my method of 
advertising was not likely to be successful. What 
more could I do ? 

As I walked by the saloons I observed that they 
were full of men. If only I had not been a bishop, 
I reflected, the problem would have been easy of so- 
lution; for then I could have gone in the saloons 
where the men were, and delivered my invitation 
in person. But how would it look for a bishop 
to visit such places even with the best of motives. 
At last I became desperate. I selected the first 
saloon in the row. I went in. I introduced my- 
self to the proprietor. I told him I was the Bishop 
of Idaho, and had come in to pay my respects to 
him. He met me very cordially. "Why, Bishop, I 
am proud to know you. What will you have?" 

I thanked him and told him I should be greatly 
indebted to him if he would kindly introduce me 
to those gentlemen, pointing to a large room back 
of the saloon, where the men were gathered. 

"Do you mean the boys in the pool-room?" he 
asked. 

"Yes, I presume I do." 

Thereupon he came out from behind the counter, 
put his arm in mine in a familiar way, as though 

46 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

we had been boon companions all our lives, and 
escorted me to the open doorway of the pool-room. 

"Boys," he cried out, "hold up the game. Put 
up the chips just a minute. This is the Bishop right 
among us, and he wants to be introduced." 

With a politeness and courtesy which would have 
done credit to any drawing-room in New York or 
Boston or Philadelphia, the men rose from their 
seats and welcomed me. I said, briefly: 

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I do not wish to inter- 
fere with your pleasure or your amusement. I have 
just come in to pay my respects to you. I am 
the Bishop, and am going to hold services in the 
dance-hall to-morrow morning at eleven and in the 
evening at eight, and I shall be very glad to see you 
there." 

I remember that one of them, evidently speaking 
in a representative capacity, thanked me for letting 
them know, and asked me again the hour, and as- 
sured me they would all be present. In this way I 
visited all the seven saloons in the row. Every- 
where I was treated with the most respectful con- 
sideration, and I did not hear one word that could 
have offended the most delicate conscience. When 
I had completed the round I felt that I was reason- 
ably sure of a goodly number of men as my hearers. 

Coming out of one of the saloons I suddenly en- 
countered on the street my little friend, Brother 
May, the new minister. He gave me a look of 
commingled surprise and pity, and with it a slight 

47 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

touch of scorn; but no words were exchanged be- 
tween us. When, after my visitation of the saloons, 
I returned to my hotel, I found Brother May with 
his face buried in a newspaper. He hardly deigned 
to speak to me. I asked him some question. He 
hardly vouchsafed a reply. I tried him again. At 
last he put down his paper, and, looking at me with 
a much aggrieved expression, said : 

"Look here, Bishop, didn't I see you coming out 
of a saloon?" 

"Yes, Brother May, you did, and if you had 
watched me you would have seen me coming out 
of seven." 

"Well," he continued, "all I have to say is I am 
sadly disappointed in you. My heart had gone out 
to you, and I was thanking God for sending you to 
this awful place, and now to think of a bishop go- 
ing into one of those hells." 

I tried to explain to my reverend little brother 
that I had visited more saloons that day than 
in all of the days of my life before; that I was not 
a drinking man, and regretted the evils of strong 
drink as much as he or any man could, but that I 
had come to get hold of those men ; that I only vis- 
ited the camp one Sunday a year, while he would 
have an opportunity every week to talk to them. 
Gradually it dawned upon him that my act was, 
after all, susceptible of a charitable interpretation, 
though he could not justify it; nor could he agree 
with me in thinking that my efforts to secure the 

48 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

presence of the men would prove successful, but 
felt sure they would not come out, no matter what 
they promised — in short, that I had hopelessly im- 
paired my influence with them. I could only ask 
him to wait and see. It was clearly evident that 
Brother May's faith in me had been subjected to 
a severe test, and had almost reached the breaking 
point. His ideals of the episcopal office had re- 
ceived a terrible blow. 

That evening we gathered together a few good 
people, and practised some familiar hymns. A 
young woman was found who played the little or- 
gan. The morrow came, a bright and beautiful 
Sunday. As the hour of service approached, I 
could see that a great crowd was gathering. I had 
already put on my robes, and was seated on the 
platform of the dance-hall, where also the organ 
and the choir were placed. As the men filed in, 
they occupied every available space. I invited 
some to sit on the edge of the high platform. Others 
took advantage of the fact that the windows were 
opened, and stationed themselves there. A large 
number had to stand near the doorway; but from 
the beginning to the close of the service a hushed 
and entirely reverential demeanor characterized 
the assembly. They listened most patiently to all 
I had to say. There was something peculiarly sol- 
emnizing and inspiring in those manly and earnest 
faces as they seemed to respond to the appeal I was 
making. 

49 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

After I had finished the sermon I introduced 
Brother May. I told the men that while the church 
I had the honor to represent had not yet seen 
its way to send them a minister, yet I rejoiced 
that Brother May, representing another religious 
body, had come; that he was present in the con- 
gregation, and I was glad to introduce him; that 
he was to preach that afternoon at four. Then 
Brother May arose. He was extremely short of 
stature, and had a long black mustache, curled up 
at the ends. He wore a bright-green cutaway coat, 
a blue waistcoat, and red necktie. His boots had 
high heels, tapered after the cow-boy fashion. All 
eyes were instantly fastened upon him. A stillness 
that was painful fell upon the scene. Brother May 
stood near the platform. Instead of turning around 
and facing the people he stood side wise, looking at 
them over his shoulder. 

"Yes, brethren, as the Bishop has said, I am 
here, and I am here to stay. I have come to preach 
the Gospel, and my first sermon will be at four 
o'clock, here in this place. I want you all to be on 
hand, for God knows you need the Gospel. Just 
think of it, you have seven saloons here in this 
camp! Seven dens of hell! The fact is, this is the 
most God-forsaken hole I ever struck." 

He sat down. There was no audible expression 
of dissent, but I could feel that my little brother 
had forfeited his opportunity to commend himself 
to the people. I was sorry. 

50 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

Another hymn was given out, and I was about to 
dismiss the congregation with my blessing when 
Colonel Burns, my landlord, stepped forward, and 
in a low but distinct voice said : 

" Bishop, haven't you forgot something?" 

"What do you mean?" said I. 

"Why, the hat," replied the colonel. 

"Excuse me," I answered, "you are right. I 
had quite forgotten the collection." 

"I thought so," said the colonel. "It won't do 
to forget the hat, for yesterday was pay-day, and 
these boys have a lot of money, and if you don't 
get it the saloons will, and it is much better for you 
to have it. Now, Bishop, if you will allow me, I 
will run that part of the business myself." 

"Very good," I said. "Have you any sugges- 
tions, colonel?" 

"Only this, Bishop: I wish you would give us 
about five hymns." 

"Five!" I exclaimed. "You surely do not mean 
B.ve hymns." 

"Yes, Bishop," he replied, " I want plenty of time. 
I do not want to be crowded. The boys are a little 
slow on collections." 

I stepped over to the organ, and arranged with 
the young woman who was playing for us to give 
us five familiar hymns. We started in. The colo- 
nel presented the hat to the man immediately on 
my left. He was sitting on the edge of the plat- 
form. He brought out a silver dollar, called a 
s 51 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"wheel" in the language of the camp. The second 
and third men to whom the hat was passed fol- 
lowed the example of the first, each giving a dollar; 
but the fourth man seemed nervous, and hesitated 
while he fumbled in his pocket. After considerable 
delay he brought out a quarter. 

"Oh, put that back. Come, now, Bill," said the 
colonel, "the Bishop is not after small game to-day. 
White chips don't go here. He wants a wheel out 
of you. Hurry up." 

"But, colonel," said the man, "I hain't got no 
wheel; I am busted." 

"Oh, what you givin' us?" said the colonel. 
"Borrow one from Jack. Jack will loan you one." 

I was not supposed to hear this dialogue, but the 
colonel evidently took no pains to conceal what was 
going on. After some little parleying Jack loaned 
his neighbor a "wheel," and the hat passed on. I 
can remember the colonel, when he reached the 
crowd standing at the door, held out the hat with 
one hand, while with the other he expostulated with 
the men. The hymns were being rapidly used up, 
and at last the colonel returned to the platform 
with the hat. His face beamed with satisfaction. 
After the service I asked him why it took him so long. 

"Oh," he replied, "Bishop, you see, I charge up 
every feller accordin' to his pile. I know these 
boys. Most on 'em grub with me. I made one 
feller cough up a ten-dollar gold-piece, and you will 
find a good many fives in the hat. Let's count it." 

52 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

I need not say that the collection was a generous 
one. 

At four o'clock I went to the hall to help and 
hear Brother May. As yet no one had come. At 
length a few women and children and one old man 
straggled in. Brother May preached on the "Rose 
of Sharon." It was his maiden effort. The after- 
noon was very warm, and the perspiration poured 
forth as my little friend labored with the text. He 
was thoroughly discouraged, and could not under- 
stand why the hall was not full. I ventured to 
suggest that I feared he had not been very tactful 
in the morning when he told them that their town 
was the most "God-forsaken hole" he had ever seen. 

I learned afterwards that Brother May remained 
at the camp only about three weeks. At the end of 
that time a committee waited on him. The spokes- 
man said : 

"Brother May, we understand you don't like our 
camp." 

"No," said Brother May, "it is the worst I ever 
struck." 

"Well, Brother May, would you like to shake off 
the dust of our camp and leave us for better dig- 
gin's?" 

"You bet I would," was the reply. 

"Well, will you leave if we give you seventy-five 
dollars?" 

"Sure I will." 

"Will you leave by to-morrow's stage?" 

53 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"I certainly will." 

"Then here's your money." And Brother May 
departed to parts unknown. 

To return to our Sunday's work. That evening 
there was another service, and another great crowd. 
I begged the men to do something towards securing 
a minister and building a church. I reminded them 
that they had had no one to bury their dead, min- 
ister to their sick and wounded, baptize their chil- 
dren, administer the holy communion, and preach 
the Gospel. I told them I would be glad to co- 
operate with them in any effort they might make. 
When Monday morning came a committee waited 
on me with a petition signed by nearly a hundred 
miners begging me to stay over and give them an- 
other talk that night. I consented, and the dance- 
hall was again completely filled. Tuesday morn- 
ing, just before I took the stage, a committee came 
to me from a neighboring saloon with a subscription- 
paper. One of the committee said: 

"Now, Bishop, you have been going for us about 
not having a preacher. Here is a proposition. If 
you will stay here, and rustle up this preachin' 
business, and be our parson, we will stand by you 
to the tune of two thousand dollars a year. Here it 
is down in black and white. This is all gilt-edge." 

Of course I was surprised and gratified. I re- 
plied that, while I felt much complimented by their 
offer, it was evident they did not understand the 
nature of my office; that I was a Bishop, and had 

54 



A MINING-CAMP IN IDAHO 

to go from place to place, and could tarry nowhere 
long ; that I was on my way to the next camp ; but 
I added: 

"With this liberal offer of two thousand dollars a 
year I can send you a first-class man." 

They hesitated and seemed a little embarrassed. 
After some consultation one of them said: 

"Bishop, that was not the deal. The boys sub- 
scribed this for you. If you' can't come we will 
have to make a new deal." 

With that they again disappeared in the saloon. 
Returning in a few moments, the spokesman said: 

"Bishop, here is a new list. If you will send us 
a first-rate man, a good talker and a good mixer, 
we will guarantee him at least one thousand dollars 
a year. Tell him, Bishop, there will be no trouble 
about money. He sha'n't be allowed to suffer. We 
boys will treat him white. Only, please remem- 
ber," he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "don't 
send us no stick." 

They had not forgotten Brother May's rebuke, 
and were not willing to take any chances. The term 
"good mixer" was new to me then, but I learned 
that it meant the qualities of good-fellowship and 
sympathy and fraternity. The successful man of 
God in the mining-camp need not lose his dignity or 
self-respect, but it is of vital importance that he be 
a man among men, and, above all, possess the 
capacity of loving men, and with the aid of that 
gift know how to reach their hearts. 

55 



CHAPTER V 

A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

AS it was my custom when journeying through 
i my diocese to spend several days in a mining- 
town, it was often possible to prepare the way for 
my visitation to the next camp through the kind 
offices of personal friends already made. Thus it 
was that Mrs. Deardon, one of our church-members 
in Challis, informed me that her husband kept the 
hotel and saloon in Clayton, and that she had al- 
ready sent him word of my intended visit. A 
white horse was placed at my disposal by a gentle- 
man who facetiously reminded me that my first 
stopping-place en route would be a mining-camp 
known as Bay Horse. 

It was at this latter place that I met for the first 
and only time a strange, wild man of the mountains, 
who was spoken of as the " Bulgarian monk." He 
carried a gun, and was followed by a dog. Occa- 
sionally he would descend from the hills, where he 
led a solitary life in the woods, to a mining-camp, 
and preach the Gospel to those who were attracted 
by his weird appearance and mysterious person- 
ality. He affected the conventional dress and 

56 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

bearing of the apostles, and seemed to consider him- 
self a sort of modern John the Baptist. By the 
more superstitious and impressionable he was re- 
garded with much awe and wonder ; by others, and 
especially the young, he was greatly feared, and 
mothers would conjure with his name in keeping 
their children in the path of obedience. Whence 
he came and whither he went, no one knew. His 
movements were enshrouded in mystery. I tried 
to engage him in conversation and elicit from him 
some information as to his life and purpose. But 
my efforts were unavailing. As the weather grew 
cold in the autumn he would disappear, not to be 
seen again until the winter had passed and the 
snow had melted in the mountains. Then with his 
rifle and faithful dog he would once more be seen 
in the woods. Whenever he condescended to come 
to a settlement, it was only for a brief hour, to de- 
liver his message or warning, and then disappear. 
He repelled all attempts to draw him into con- 
versation, nor would he accept hospitality or kind- 
ness from any one. He suddenly ceased to make 
his annual visits, and no one seemed to be able to 
solve the enigma of his life. On the occasion of 
my seeing him at Bay Horse he was just leaving 
that place, and I can vividly recall his curiously 
clad retreating figure, as he climbed the mountain 
and disappeared among the pines. 

Reaching Clayton about one o'clock, I was met 
cordially by my host, who bade me alight and par- 

57 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

take of his hospitality. I was somewhat late for 
dinner, but the dining-room was still open, and I 
soon found myself seated at the table. Scarcely 
had I begun my dinner when a man in the far 
corner of the room hailed me in a loud voice. 

" Hello, Bishop," said he. "Is that you?" 

"Yes," I replied. 

"Bishop, come over this way, and eat with a 
feller," beckoning to me. 

By this time I had easily discovered that my 
friend was far from sober. I declined the invitation 
to join him by reminding him that I had already 
been served, and that it would be inconvenient to 
have my dishes carried over to his table. I added 
that I would see him after dinner. That sugges- 
tion did not at all satisfy him. He said: 

"Well, then, Bishop, if you won't eat with me, 
I'll come over and eat with you." 

And over he came. He was the impersonation 
of good-nature and amiability, though somewhat 
familiar for an entire stranger. When he was 
seated near me he said: 

"Bishop, are you going to talk to the boys here 
to-night?" 

I told him that was my object in coming to the 
camp. 

"Well," he added, "I am glad, for God knows 
these fellers here need it. You see, Bishop, the 
trouble with the boys here is that they drink too 
much." He was obviously the last person to com- 

53 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

plain of that tendency on the part of his brethren. 
So I ventured to say: 

"Well, my friend, I am very sorry to hear that, 
but, if you will pardon me, it seems to me that you 
are suffering from that same trouble yourself just 
now." 

He saw my point, but was ready for my sally, 
and quickly rejoined: 

"You are right, Bishop; but don't you see, when 
the Bishop comes a feller just has to celebrate." 

It was easy to establish kindly relations with so 
pleasant a nature. His next remark was: 

"Bishop, I heard you at Ketchum. Are you go- 
ing to give them that same talk you gave us fellers 
there?" 

I told him I had thought of preaching another 
sermon. 

"Oh, give them that same talk, Bishop; that was 
a hell of a good talk, and will hit these fellers here 
just right." 

He then wished to know where I was going to 
preach and the hour. I told him the service would 
be in the dance-hall over Barnes's saloon at eight 
o'clock that evening. He asked me if I would al- 
low him to help me "round-up the boys." I an- 
swered that I thought his help would not be neces- 
sary; that I intended to visit the mill, and go down 
in the mines, and call in at all the stores, and invite 
everybody. But before I escaped from him he had 
expressed his purpose to be on hand without fail. 

59 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

After calling on the superintendent, and letting 
all the people know about the services, I returned 
to the hotel and had supper. About half -past six 
I went over to see the dance-hall. It was in a most 
untidy condition. There had been a dance the 
night before, and it had been left in great disorder. 
I found a broom, raised the windows, and swept 
the place thoroughly. I then dusted the organ and 
the chairs, and put things in order as best I could. 
Finding an oil-can, I filled the lamps and cleaned 
the chimneys, and was quite pleased at the im- 
proved appearance of things. I then sat down to 
think over my address and prepare for the service. 
It must have been about half -past seven when I 
heard the sound of heavy footsteps ascending the 
outside stairway. It was my friend. 

" Bishop," he asked, "are you ready for the boys ? 
Shall I round them up now?" 

"No, not yet," I said, "wait about half an hour, 
please." 

"All right. I'll be back in a half hour." 

Sure enough, a little before eight he again re- 
ported. "Are you ready now, Bishop?" 

"Yes," I replied. "You may now round them 
up." 

I still hoped that the constable might come to my 
relief and lock up my friend in "the cooler" until 
after service. But no such good -fortune awaited 
me. Presently I heard his voice resounding up and 
down the narrow street, or gulch, crying out: 

60 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

'"'Oh yes, boys! Oh yes! Come this way. 
The Bishop is ready. The meetin' is about to 
begin." 

His invitation was promptly acted upon, for soon 
the tramp of feet was heard upon the stairway, and 
it was not long before every chair and bench was 
occupied. Standing-room was at a premium; and 
when I was about to give out the opening hymn, 
and was congratulating myself that my friend had 
been opportunely side-tracked, he, last of all, made 
his appearance. His condition had not improved, 
but, on the contrary, had grown worse during his 
visits to the several saloons where he went to 
"round-up the boys." I was not a little annoyed 
by his arrival, and anticipated trouble. There was 
no chair to offer him. Suddenly it occurred to me 
that the only safe thing to do was to give him my 
chair after placing it oh the opposite side of the 
little table where I had been sitting. He was limp, 
and easily managed. I greeted him kindly, and, 
taking him by the shoulders, seated him so that he 
would be facing me and immediately under my 
eye. As I thrust him down, I said: 

"You shall have the best seat in the house, right 
here by me." 

"All right, Bishop," he replied, audibly, looking 
around at the congregation with a broad grin. 
"There ain't no flies on you." 

I gave out a hymn, requesting all to stand. As 
the singing proceeded I noticed that as long as I 

61 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

kept my eyes on my friend he was very respectful, 
but whenever I looked in the other direction he 
would pull out a large red handkerchief, and osten- 
tatiously wipe his eyes as if his religious emotions 
were stirred to the depths. The devotional service 
safely over, the sermon began. The text was those 
words of St. Paul before Felix: "As he reasoned of 
righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come." 
One could hardly refrain, with such a text, from 
dwelling on the great evils of intemperance. It 
was evident that drunkenness was the prevailing 
vice of the camp, and that it was destroying many 
of the young lives before me. As long as that was 
my theme I observed that my friend, just before 
me, hung his head in shame. He was conscience- 
stricken. He felt that the preacher was personal in 
his remarks, and had him chiefly in mind. I shall 
never forget his look of abject misery and self- 
abasement. 

At length I passed on to another vice, that of 
gambling, also very prevalent, and equally debasing 
in its effects. Now it just happened, as I learned 
afterwards, that my convivial hearer was not ad- 
dicted to card-playing or gambling in any of its 
forms. Whatever sins he might possess, he could 
plead "not guilty" to this indictment. Therefore, 
when he realized that I had passed on from the 
consideration of his particular weakness, and was 
launching out to attack the sins of others, he im- 
mediately braced up and looked me straight in the 

62 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

eye, his face radiant with interest and delight. As 
I proceeded his head nodded in evident approval of 
my arguments, and at last I could hear him say: 

"That's right, Bishop. Go for 'em. Hit 'em 
again." 

He became more and more noisy and excited. 
Finally he clapped his hands, and, unable longer to 
restrain himself, he shouted: 

"Good, good! Give 'em hell, Bishop. Give 'em 
hell." 

I looked at him severely, and motioned to him 
with my hand deprecatingly, and he subsided. 

It was a memorable evening. After the closing 
hymn and the benediction the men lingered long, 
and many of them came up and shook my hand 
gratefully; but I could see there was something on 
their minds which they wished to express. At 
length one of them found courage to say: 

"Bishop, things did not look quite natural in 
church to-night." 

I asked what he meant. 

"Why," he said, "you didn't look like a bishop, 
and didn't have 'em on as you did in Challis." 

"Oh, you refer to my vestments," I said, and ex- 
plained to them that I had left my robes and prayer- 
books in a gunny-sack with Mr. Deardon at his 
saloon. He had placed the bag behind the counter ; 
but later a ranchman, living out of town about nine 
miles, had called for his gunny-sack, and, as they all 
look alike, had taken mine instead of his own; so 

63 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

when the time for service came I was without my 
usual equipment. 

"Oh, that's the way it happened, is it? Well, 
you see, Bishop, we boys like to have you dress up 
for us. It seems so much more like church back 
home." 

The next day, as I sat writing in my room at the 
hotel, some one knocked at my door. My visitor 
was a young man from the East, in whom I became 
at once greatly interested. A cursory glance was 
enough to reveal the fact that he had the bearing 
and instincts of a gentleman. Intelligence and re- 
finement were clearly written upon his countenance. 
I arose and greeted him, and asked him to be seated. 
He told me his story. He was a college graduate. 
His mother and sisters were still living. He had 
formed the habit of drink until he had lost one posi- 
tion after another, and at length determined to 
break off from all his Eastern connections and make 
a new start in a country where he was utterly un- 
known. He came to the mountains of Idaho. He 
soon secured a good place, and for some months life 
seemed to be full of promise and hope; but in an 
evil hour he yielded to his old enemy, fell again, 
and was finally dismissed. So he had buried him- 
self in this far-distant mining-camp, and was dig- 
ging ore as a common laborer by the day. It was 
evident that the alcohol habit had a grip on him, 
from which escape would be exceedingly difficult. 
He said he had been out to the service the evening 

64 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

before, and, as he was on the night shift, had 
dropped in to have a little talk with me. When he 
said good-bye, he paused, and, gazing at me with a 
look of inexpressible sadness, asked me if he could 
take the pledge in my presence. I said by all 
means, and after we had knelt down and asked that 
he might be kept strong and brave and victorious, 
he signed a form which I wrote out and gave him, 
and also a duplicate which I kept myself and still 
possess. He promised to write me from time to 
time, and we exchanged several letters. The last 
tidings from him were reassuring, and, as he was 
called home later, let us hope he proved a comfort 
and stay to those dependent upon him. 

This case is only one of many, as may be im- 
agined ; for the Far West, with its life of adventure, 
appeals to young men, among whom frequently are 
those who have enjoyed the best advantages of 
home and education. In some cases, success crowns 
their efforts; but more frequently they go down, 
unable to resist the terrible temptations that beset 
them. 

On a former visit I had been preaching in a 
saloon. The proprietor had shown me no small 
kindness, and had sprinkled sawdust on the floor, 
and hung sheets from the ceiling, thus hiding the 
counter and the bottles behind it. The men had 
been respectful and quiet, although many had stood 
throughout the service. At the close the saloon- 
keeper said: 

65 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Bishop, would you mind following me just as 
you are into the kitchen?" 

Still wearing my robes, I followed him. Before 
entering he paused to tell me that his cook was a 
young man "who had seen better days," that he 
was a member of the Episcopal church, and was 
most anxious to meet me; that he had begged that 
I come out where he was at work. Upon ushering 
me into the kitchen my guide retired, leaving me 
alone with the young man. I shall never forget 
that moment. He threw himself upon his knees, 
grasped my hand, and kissed it again and again, 
sobbing. When he recovered himself sufficiently, 
he proceeded to recite to me some incidents of his 
sad career. He was the son of a London clergy- 
man; was a graduate of Oxford University; had 
fallen into dissolute habits, and forged, a note; 
friends of his father had gathered around him, 
hushed up the scandal, paid the note, and supplied 
him with enough money to reach New York; there 
he had secured lucrative employment, but had 
again fallen into evil ways, and so had been going 
down, down ever since, until, at last, working his 
way westward, he had actually become the cook in 
this saloon kitchen. It was evident, even then, 
that he was dying with consumption. I gave him 
a prayer-book, which he greatly appreciated, made 
him promise to write me, cheered him up, and, with 
my blessing, bade him good-bye. He lived only a 
few weeks after that interview. 

66 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

As I returned to the Wood River country from 
this trip I spent a few days at Hailey. One after- 
noon a card bearing the name "Joe Oldham" was 
brought to my room at the hotel. I recognized at 
once that my visitor was a famous gambler, of 
whom I had often heard; but despite his unen- 
viable profession, Joe Oldham was highly respected 
by the men of Idaho. He stood at the head of his 
business for decency and honor and integrity. 
Naturally, however, I wondered why he had called 
to see me; but I immediately descended to the 
parlor, where, attired in a faultless suit ot broad- 
cloth, Mr. Oldham awaited me. Tall, dignified in 
bearing, most gracious and polite in manner, he ex- 
tended his hand. As I grasped it he said: 

"Bishop, I hear you are from Missouri." 

"Yes," I replied, "I am proud to say that is my 
native State." I added that I was from Fayette, 
Howard County. 

His face lighted up with a smile, and he ex- 
claimed: "Howard County! Why, I have been 
there. I have relatives in old Howard." 

We at once became good friends. I soon learned 
his mission. He simply wished me to write a letter 
to his "folks," who lived in Independence, Missouri. 
His family consisted of a mother and two sisters. 

"Bishop," he said, "as long as Joe Oldham lives 
they will never know what it is to want for any- 
thing. If you will write my mother, and just tell 
her that you have met me, it will make her very 

6 67 




MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

happy. Tell her that you are the Bishop of Idaho, 
and that her son, Joe, called upon you. Now, 
Bishop, I expect you have heard of me." 
"Yes," I replied, "often, Mr. Oldham." 
"And you know what my business is?" 
"Well, yes, Mr. Oldham. I have heard some- 
thing about it in a general way." 

"Now, Bishop, I am going to tell you all about 
it. I am a professional gambler. I run a fine place 
here. It is no place for a bishop to visit, or I would 
like to take you around and show it to you. But I 
run a clean house. Every man who comes there 
has a square deal. No crookedness there, Bishop. 
No drinking and carousing allowed. It is a place 
for a white man." Rising to depart, he said: 
"Now, Bishop, if you will write to my mother," 
giving me her address, "I shall be so grateful to 
you. But, may I ask of you one great favor when 
you write? Just don't mention what my business 
is. It would simply break her heart if she knew 
how I make my money. For, Bishop, if there ever 
was a good Christian woman in this world, it is my 
dear old mother. I only beg of you not to give me 
away." 

Joe again extended his hand and grasped mine. 
As he withdrew it I found that he had placed a 
twenty-dollar gold-piece in my palm. "Please take 
it, Bishop," he said; "you will find some good use 
for it. And just let me say that whenever you 
want another just like it, if you will only drop a 

68 



A VISIT TO CLAYTON GULCH 

line to 'Joe Oldham, Hailey, Idaho,' it will be sure 
to come." 

Invariably, after that first interview, when I 
would meet my Missouri friend he would slip into 
my hand a twenty-dollar gold-piece. He was a 
generous soul, warm hearted, and loyal to his 
friends. His kindness to the widow and the orphan, 
to the man hurt in the mines, and to all in trouble, 
made him greatly beloved. He had about him a 
certain title of nobility. He did not claim to be a 
Christian, but as he never turned his face away 
from any poor man, let us hope that the face of the 
Lord has not been turned away from him. 



CHAPTER VI 

IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

THE palmy days of the stage-coach in the 
Rockies have now passed away. The advent 
of the railroad has left comparatively small dis- 
tances to be compassed by this primitive mode of 
locomotion. The day when six horses were the 
regulation number gradually gave place to that of 
the four-horse team; and now two horses sleepily 
plod along, and carry the mail and such occasional 
passengers as may be compelled to travel in this 
way. In my early days in Wyoming and Idaho 
there were some superb outfits on the road, and 
stage-travel had its interesting and enjoyable feat- 
ures. Runaways, break-downs, narrow escapes of 
various kinds often occurred, recalling the epitaph 
once found on an old grave-stone: 

" Weep, stranger, for a father spilled 
From a stage-coach, and thereby killed. 
His name, Jay Sykes, a maker of sassengers, 
Slain with three other outside passengers." 

The long distances through a country almost en- 
tirely uninhabited exposed the passengers to hold- 

70 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

ups by the "road agents," as the highway robbers 
are called out West. Especially was this the case 
when large sums of money had to be sent through 
Wells, Fargo 's Express Company, or bars of gold 
and silver had to be carried from the mines. The 
robbers were wonderfully astute, and generally 
managed to know just when the consignments were 
made. At such times it was the custom of the 
stage company to have one or more fearless men, 
well armed, ride with the driver. But men who 
embark in the hazardous calling of the road-agent 
are very desperate, and take fearful risks when a 
rich haul is in sight. In these encounters it is 
simply a question as to which party shall get "the 
drop ' ' on the other ; for, however brave a guard may 
be, it would be sheer foolhardiness to refuse to 
throw up his hands when he found himself and 
companions suddenly covered by three or four 
deadly Winchesters. Again and again, one desper- 
ate road -agent has been known to rob a stage- 
coach full of passengers, and compel the driver to 
throw out the bullion and express-box, while those 
within the stage, though armed, have meekly 
looked on in amazement. I usually found it con- 
venient, through the advice of my friends, to make 
my journeys when the stage did not carry such 
tempting booty ; so it was never my fate to be held 
up, though frequently the stage which just preceded 
or followed mine was robbed. Therefore, I never 
had Bishop Kemper's experience in the early days 

7i 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

of Kansas. The Bishop was the victim of a hold-up 
one night when he was the only passenger. The 
driver told the road-agent, who had covered him 
with a six-shooter, that his only passenger was a 
bishop. 

' 'Well," said the robber, "wake up the old man. 
I want to go through his pockets." 

When the Bishop was aroused from a sound 
slumber, and realized the situation, he gently 
remonstrated with the man behind the gun. He 
said: 

"Surely you would not rob a poor Bishop. I 
have no money worth your while, and I am engaged 
in the discharge of my sacred duties." 

"Did you say you were a Bishop ?" asked the road- 
agent. 

"Yes, just a poor Bishop." 

"What church?" 

"The Episcopal church." 

"The hell you are! Why, that's the church I 
belong to. Driver, you may pass on." 

I wish to speak of a few stage-drivers whom it 
was my good-fortune to know. It can be readily 
believed that some of these men were unique char- 
acters. They led lonely lives, and most of them 
had interesting histories. Often alone for days 
and nights, exposed to all kinds of weather, and 
taking many chances, they could, when drawn out, 
relate some thrilling experiences. Unattractive as 
such a life would seem to be, yet it possesses a 

72 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

strange fascination for men once accustomed to it, 
and, even if they abandon it for a while, they are 
unfit for any other vocation, and are almost sure to 
return. Some of the stage-drivers whom I knew 
had been on the road for a quarter of a century, 
and were among the best-known characters on the 
plains. 

I recall now with peculiar interest an old driver 
by the name of Pierce. He was somewhat com- 
municative after we had learned to know each 
other on many long rides. He once told me that 
he intended to get married soon. One could see 
that he was very happy at the prospect. Indeed, I 
could not interest him long in any other subject. 
He said: 

" Bishop, will you tie us?" 

''Certainly I will, Pierce." 

"It's going to be in Rawlins, and I'll let you 
know in good time. We both want you, and we 
want the thing done up brown." 

Time passed, and I did not hear from Pierce. 
The next year I had to go over his road again. As 
usual, Pierce was on the box. I had heard that 
the marriage had not taken place; but I hesitated, 
out of respect for his feelings, to bring up the sub- 
ject, and as we had the whole day before us, and I 
was the only passenger, I felt sure he would tell me 
all about it. When we got well on our way he said : 

"Well, Bishop, you never heard from me, did 
you?" 

73 . 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"No, Pierce, and I wondered at it. What hap- 
pened?" 

"I am through with the women. This is the 
third one I have married off to another feller — the 
third one that has robbed me." 

"Why, Pierce, what do you mean?" 

"Well, I mean just what I say. Here's the way 
she treated me. You see that there gal knowed I 
had money, and she knowed I thought a mighty 
sight of her. So she just worked me. She was 
poor, and I had bought a little house for us to live 
in in Rawlins, and she axed me wouldn't I let her 
have the money to buy the furniture and get her 
weddin '-clothes. I said, 'Certainly,' and she took 
nearly all I had. I would have trusted that gal to 
the end of the earth. Now, sir, the first thing I 
knowed she was gone. Yes, she pulled her freight 
and hit the trail with another feller. Of course, he 
was a low-down cur, but he's just what she de- 
served. The lawyers say if I can catch her and 
him I can lock 'em up. But what good will that 
there do? My money is gone, and the gal's gone. 
I tell you, it's mighty hard luck. You jest can't 
trust the women. They'll rob you every time if 
they get the chance. As I was sayin', this is the 
third one that has went through with my pile. 
They jest get you to lovin' on 'em, and they promise 
to marry you, and then you loan 'em your pile, and 
they run off with some honery cuss, and blow in 
your money." 

74 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

I confess it was difficult to say anything very 
comforting to my old friend. He was evidently an 
easy prey to designing and unscrupulous maidens. 

The next year, as I went up to the Indian agency 
with Pierce, I found him in a very religious frame 
of mind. When we were fairly started he said : 

"Bishop, I have been wantin' to see you for a 
long time. I have been wantin' to ax you some 
questions about old Pluggage. You knowed him, I 
reckin." 

"Do you mean the rich man who owned all these 
stage-lines?" I asked. 

"Yes, that's him. Well, you know that old cuss 
has passed in his checks." 

"Yes," I replied, "I saw the account of his death 
in the papers. He died in Kansas, and left a large 
fortune. What did you wish to ask me about him, 
Pierce?" 

"Well, Bishop," he replied, "I've knowed old 
Pluggage a long time, and I'm sort o' curious about 
him. I've been a-waitm' till you come along to ax 
you about him. I could have axed some of them 
little bronco preachers what I've been haulin', but 
they don't know nothin' much, and you'se a bishop, 
and knows your business all right. I jest want you 
to locate old Pluggage for me." 

"Just what do you mean, Pierce, by asking me 
to locate him?" I questioned. 

"Why, Bishop, I want to know where in the hell 
he's at?" 

75 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Oh, my dear fellow, I hope he is not there at 
all," I replied. 

"Well, I didn't mean just that, but I want you 
to tell me where old Pluggage went to." 

It was a rather embarrassing question, and I vent- 
ured to say that my acquaintance with Mr. Plug- 
gage was very slight ; that I had only met him once, 
and then thought him a pleasant gentleman, and so 
forth. 

"Maybe you'd like some facts?" he asked. "I 
kin give you all the old man's p'ints. I kin get 
him down fine." 

"Yes," I replied, "I do not like to pronounce 
judgment on any poor brother man. We all have 
our faults. On such slight knowledge of Mr. Plug- 
gage's character I certainly would not presume to 
express an opinion." 

"Jest so. I see, Bishop. Now, here's the facts. 
I don't jest say old Pluggage would steal, even if 
he did hold back our money sometimes ; but he was 
so infernal stingy he would hold on to a silver dollar 
till the eagle on it squawked. Does that help you 
to locate him?" 

I shook my head doubtfully. 

"Then, Bishop, nobody ever swapped horses with 
the old man what didn't get sick afterwards. Now, 
can you place him?" 

And so Pierce went on reciting all the disparaging 
characteristics of his old boss until it became per- 
fectly evident where he wished me to locate him. 

76 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

When I again pleaded my inability to penetrate 
into the mysteries of the future he seemed much 
disappointed. 

"But you be a bishop, and locatin' dead people is 
in your line of business, ain't it?" 

I had to admit that, in a general way, the sub- 
ject was related to my profession. 

"Don't the Good Book say, Bishop, that ther's 
jest two places where they kin go? Now, which 
place did they send old Pluggage?" 

I could not but half regret that my conscience 
would not allow me to avail myself, in this par- 
ticular case, of the doctrine of a mild purgatory; 
for if I could have consigned old Pluggage to a hot 
atmosphere for a while, and then let him out, it 
would have entirely satisfied Pierce's sense of 
justice. His was not a vindictive nature. I am 
not quite sure I ever entirely recovered the high 
opinion the stage -driver once entertained of my 
theological erudition. 

Sometimes the stage was heavily loaded; for, be- 
sides the passengers, there was often much freight 
and express matter. When this was the case, and 
the roads were bad and the hills steep, it was the 
custom for all the passengers to alight and " spell" 
the horses, as it was called. Commercial travellers, 
or "drummers," in my day made up the largest 
class of passengers. Some of these were Jews. 
The Jews have many admirable qualities, and my 
experience with them as a race has been far from 

77 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

unpleasant. Indeed, among my best friends in the 
West I can number many Hebrews; but now and 
then in the stage-coach we would encounter one 
who insisted on his pound of flesh. He simply 
would not get out and walk. 

"I have paid my fare," he would say. "Let old 
Salisbury put on more horses. He has no right to 
make us walk when we have paid our good money 
to ride. I am going to keep my seat." 

Perhaps such reasoning was technically defensi- 
ble, but it was squarely in the face of a universal 
custom which leaned to the side of mercy to the 
poor overworked horses ; and any man who stoutly 
maintained the proposition was likely to get him- 
self into trouble with driver or passengers, and 
sometimes with both. 

When, at one time, all the other passengers had 
gradually reached their respective destinations, a 
Jew and myself were left alone. We were riding 
inside, for it had been raining, and the roads were 
very bad. When we arrived at the summit of a 
steep hill, up which I had footed it, the driver 
stopped to rest his horses and allow me to get in. 
Giving me a significant wink, he beckoned to me to 
take the seat on the box beside him. As the rain 
had ceased I was glad of the opportunity. We 
were just about to descend a long, rocky stretch of 
road. Billy said to me: "Now, Bishop, watch me 
make that cussed sheeny holler. I am going to 
drive his old stove-pipe over his ears." And down 

78 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

he went at a fearful pace, striking every rock and 
"chug-hole" he could, making it difficult even for 
me to keep my seat. In a few moments, sure 
enough, the Jew began to scream. Of course, the 
vehicle was making a great noise, and Billy found 
it convenient to hear nothing else. When we got 
down the hill the poor fellow was a pitiful sight to 
behold, and his precious silk hat was battered to a 
shapeless mass. 

Another old stage-driver, well known as "Hank," 
from Salt Lake City, was driven to desperation by 
two Israelite passengers. It was a very rainy sea- 
son, and the roads were indescribable. The stage 
had been full, and every one had been patient and 
considerate; but the two Hebrews stoically held 
down their seats; they had paid a big price, and 
were determined to get the full worth of their 
money. At last, as luck would have it, the pas- 
sengers were reduced in number until the Jews 
alone remained. Darkness came on, and the stage 
was an hour or two behind schedule time, and old 
Hank was irritated and indignant. At the foot of a 
hill was a lake where it was customary to water the 
horses. Hence, no suspicion was aroused when 
Hank drpve into the shallow water. He let the 
horses drink, and then drove in still farther until 
the water came into the stage-coach. He then de- 
liberately unhooked the traces, and, taking the 
mail-bag, got astride one of the wheel-horses, and 
rode ashore, leaving the Jews swearing at him from 

79 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the half - submerged coach. " We'll report you, 
we'll have you bounced; you shall lose your job all 
right, and we're going to sue old Salisbury for 
damages." And they carried out their threats, 
and Hank lost his place as driver, and the company 
had to pay a good round sum for damaged samples 
and outraged feelings. The news quickly reached 
Salt Lake and spread through the city. Public 
sympathy was at once enlisted in behalf of Hank, 
and a subscription started. A fine team and ex- 
press-wagon were presented to him, and he was set 
up in the delivery business in the Mormon city. 
Popular sentiment brought him a large patronage, 
and the old stage-driver's road to a good living was 
made sure and easy. 

When spring approached and the heavy snows 
in the mountains began to melt, there was more 
or less danger in fording the rivers. The Platte 
River, in Wyoming, was particularly treacherous in 
this respect. When I reached this river at one 
time on my way to Douglas I was riding a bronco. 
The stream looked angry and swollen, and I was 
debating in my mind whether or not I should 
plunge in and swim my horse across. Just then a 
kindly ranchman came upon the scene. He remon- 
strated with me; he said my bronco was rather 
small for a man of my size; that the current was 
swift, and that he though it would be unsafe to try 
it. But I said: 

"I must get to Douglas to-night." 

80 



IN AND OUT OP THE STAGE-COACH 

"Well," he replied, "I have a boat here, and will 
row you over, and we will lead the bronco." 

Accordingly, we secured a rope which we tied 
around the bronco's neck, placing the saddle and 
bridle in the boat. We then pulled out, but the 
bronco would not budge; and all the purchase we 
could get on him from the boat was unavailing. 
The ranchman suggested that we should row down 
the edge of the river and lead him until the bank 
should get so steep there would be no standing 
ground for him. "Then," he added, "we can 
yank him in." That change of tactics was en- 
tirely successful, for we both took hold, and by a 
united pull, brought him into the swift current. 
My companion was a good oarsman, and he struck 
out bravely, but it was soon evident that the bronco 
was making straight for our canoe. The ranchman 
became somewhat excited lest the pony should cap- 
size us. " Beat him back ; beat him back with the 
other end of the rope. There ain't no room in 
here for three." I landed several blows on the 
head of the determined little beast, but they did 
not seem to discourage him; and it required our 
combined effort to pilot that frail little craft to the 
other shore without being upset. 

Those of my readers who have ever been at 
Lewiston, Idaho, will remember that just across 
the river Clearwater, which flows by the town, is 
an enormous and most dangerous mountain. If 
one can keep the road, and has a good team, it is 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

safe enough; but there are several places, called 
"hog-backs," where the road is barely wide enough 
to allow another team to pass ; while on either side 
of this narrow driveway the mountain so suddenly 
recedes that a misstep must precipitate driver and 
team to imminent destruction. With this inviting 
prospect on the other side of the river, I found it 
necessary one dark night to cross the Clearwater 
and set out for the railway station some miles be- 
yond. The clergyman at Lewiston had a fine pair 
of horses, which, while full of life, were gentle and 
trustworthy. On reaching the river, which the 
clergyman had forded a few days before, we found 
it unexpectedly swollen. A rope -ferry regularly 
plied across the river, the boat usually landing 
at the far-side of a little island, which teams could 
reach by fording when the stream was normal. 
My companion's eyesight was somewhat defective 
at night, and he did not observe that the river had 
risen so high as to entirely submerge the island. 
After hailing the boatman, and giving him the sig- 
nal to come over for us, we waited until we could 
see the light on the boat, which was approaching 
the spot where the island was supposed to be. We 
then drove in. We had not advanced far before I 
heard frantic screams from the boatman. 

"Go back, for God's sake, go back, or you'll 
drown!" 

Meanwhile, the buggy seemed to be fairly throb- 
bing under the power of the current, and our horses 

&2 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

had almost lost their footing. I begged my brother 
to turn round, but he would not. I then snatched 
the reins from him, and got the horses round just 
as the boat came upon us. The captain said: 

"Well, parson, one more step, and you and the 
Bishop would have been swept in. Were you try- 
ing to drown him?' , 

The experience was one that I did not soon forget. 

It was rather curious and interesting to those 
who believe in thought transference, or mental 
telepathy, that both my wife and daughter — the 
former being at that time in Missouri, and the lat- 
ter at school in Pennsylvania — were suddenly 
awakened that night out of sound sleep by the 
vivid and painful impression that I was drowning. 
They agree that the sensation was not in the least 
like an ordinary dream. 

After we had been ferried safely over we came to 
the mountain. The wind was howling, and almost 
blew the buggy off the hog -back. Our lantern, 
suspended from the dash-board, had been blown out. 
It was pitch dark. Suddenly I felt the buggy 
sliding down-hill, and the horses gradually follow- 
ing. I jumped out, caught the horses by then- 
bridles, and, feeling my way back to the road, re- 
covered the trail. When, with great difficulty, we 
had relighted our lantern, we found that we had 
been slipping over the edge of a precipice, and that 
a few more steps would have hurled us down hun- 
dreds of feet. 

7 83 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

These are some of the perils, by-the-way, which 
added zest to one's travels, but which it is more 
pleasant to describe than to experience. 

I must be allowed here to pay my grateful tribute 
to the respectful kindness and consideration always 
shown me by the stage-drivers. I cannot say that 
I never heard an oath; but again and again, when 
one slipped out, most gracious apologies have fol- 
lowed. Bishop Clarkson's experience was never 
mine, but I can fully sympathize with his dilemma. 

It seems that on one occasion the Bishop was due 
to preach at a certain town on the prairies of Ne- 
braska. It was in the spring, and the mud was up 
to the hubs in places. Already it was growing 
dark, and the lights of the village which the Bishop 
was trying to reach seemed still a long way off. He 
became a little nervous lest he should be late for his 
appointment. Just then they encountered a mud- 
hole, and the stage-coach stuck fast. The driver 
laid on the lash; but in vain; the horses would not 
move. The Bishop was on the box with the driver, 
who was getting desperate. Unable to stand it 
longer, he turned to the Bishop, and said: 

" Do you see those wheelers looking back at me ?" 

"Yes, Harry. What does that mean?'' 

" Bishop, you know I have always tried to treat 
you right, and I respect your cloth. But do you 
say you want to preach in that there town to-night ?" 

"Of course I do, Harry. Why don't you whip 
your horses ?" 

8 4 



IN AND OUT OF THE STAGE-COACH 

"Whip 'em, Bishop! 'Ain't I been a-whippin' of 
'em my level best? Do you say that you must 
preach there to-night?" 

"Of course I must." 

" Well, Bishop, I ask it just once. You see these 
horses are used to my style of talkin' to 'em. I 
know it's a bad habit, and I know it's wrong, but 
will you please give me a dispensation just this one 
time? If you will, I'll get you there or bust. 
What do you say, Bishop?" 

The Bishop felt the case to be extreme. 

"Well, Harry, I suppose I'll have to. Fire away 
this one time." 

Harry ripped out an oath, and the horses got 
down on their haunches, cleared the mud-hole, and 
landed the Bishop in town just in time to keep his 
appointment. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

A "BIG FIND" of gold or silver soon becomes 
known in a mining country. When the fact is 
well established men of all sorts and conditions be- 
gin to pour in. Thither go the prospectors — always 
a large contingent — men who have for years been 
seeking a fortune, generally unsuccessful, but occa- 
sionally cheered and urged on by a great strike 
made by some fortunate comrade. These pros- 
pectors are often " grub-staked " — that is, supplied 
with provisions and an outfit by some backer with 
money who, in the event of good-luck, is to share 
equally the profits. Thither goes the tin-horn gam- 
bler, who prospers with the prosperity of the rest, 
often amassing a large pile, only to lose it again by 
an adverse turn of the wheel. Thither always goes 
in ample time and in sufficient numbers the saloon- 
keeper with his dance-hall, assured that if the camp 
produces anything he will get the lion's share. Later, 
if the yield is large and promising, the merchants 
follow; then the printing-press. Last of all, the 
church enters the field, to be of what service it can in 
ministering for good to the motley and eager throng. 

86 



THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

The average lifetime of a mining-camp is brief; 
and rarely do we find that nature has made such 
large deposits of the precious metal in any one 
region as in the famous Cceur d'Alene territory in 
the Panhandle of Idaho. Early in the history of 
that state valuable placer mines and a few rich 
pockets of the yellow metal had been found in and 
around Murray, not far from the Cceur d'Alene 
country. But it was not until about 1886 and 
1887 that the silver - producing, low-grade ores, 
which have yielded so enormously, were discovered. 
These are still profitably worked, and new mines 
are being opened in that wonderful country from 
time to time. When I went to Idaho the whole sec- 
tion was a dense, uninhabited forest; a few months 
later a narrow-gauge railroad connecting with the 
boat on the Cceur d'Alene Lake pierced through the 
woods and reached Wardener and then Wallace. 
Thousands of people were at once attracted by the 
reports of fabulous wealth actually in sight. 

At the time of my first visit to the Cceur d'Alene, 
Wallace was my objective point, and the first en- 
gine had but recently reached the camp. I had 
managed to send word of my coming to some young 
men who had preceded me by a few weeks. Al- 
ready a rude printing-press had been set up, and, 
as I stepped from the train, I was handed a large 
green circular which had been widely distributed, 
and was posted up on stumps and logs and shacks 
in every direction. It read as follows : 

87 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"The Bishop is coming. Let all turn out and 
hear the Bishop. Services in George and Human's 
Hall to-morrow, Sunday, at n a.m. and 8 p.m. 
Please leave your guns with the usher." 

The young men who got up this unique notice 
wished to have the service in entire harmony with 
the environment. 

As I was escorted from the station to my hotel I 
was impressed by a scene of throbbing activity. 
The camp was crowded with men, and the sound of 
saw and hammer filled the air. Conspicuous among 
the rude buildings and tents which made up the 
town there were, by actual count, sixty saloons. It 
was a confused and stirring spectacle. I found to 
my surprise that two of my own cousins from Mis- 
souri, bright and enterprising fellows, were the 
owners of the local paper ; hence I was at once made 
to feel at home. 

On the next morning, Sunday, I was curious to 
see whether or not the green circular had been effec- 
tive in drawing a congregation. Its charm had 
been potent. The hall was packed, and the con- 
gregation, as was usual in new mining-camps, was 
made up almost entirely of men. No church of any 
kind had been built; and, indeed, so new was the 
place that my visit was the first made by any 
clergyman. I had already, on the evening of my 
arrival, secured from Captain Wallace, after whom 
the place was named, and who had some sort of a 



THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

title to the town site, the promise of an eligible lot. 
The next step necessary was to raise money for 
building a church. After the morning service, and 
before dismissing the congregation, I dwelt upon 
the importance of having a place of worship, and 
asked their generous co-operation in securing the 
funds. By way of encouragement I informed them 
that a kind layman in Philadelphia, Mr. Lemuel 
Coffin, had given me a check for five hundred dollars, 
on condition that I could get a thousand dollars 
more in some town, and thus erect a fifteen- hundred- 
dollar church, and I expressed the hope that Wal- 
lace might obtain the gift. In closing I gave notice 
that at the evening service subscriptions would be 
received, and that I felt sure all would help in rais- 
ing the thousand dollars. 

That Sunday afternoon I took a walk through 
the camp. On every side men were hard at work 
as on any- week day. The stores and banks, not to 
mention the saloons, were all open. As I passed 
one bank I recognized in the cashier a gentleman 
whom I had met before. He invited me in and 
asked about the services and my plans. I briefly 
outlined to him my purpose of raising a thousand 
dollars that evening at the service. He generously 
offered to give one hundred dollars himself. An- 
other member of the firm pledged seventy-five dol- 
lars; a third, fifty dollars; they all said they would 
be present, and w T hen called upon would name the 
amounts respectively promised. A large and eager 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

congregation of men again gathered at the hall at 
eight o'clock. After the service and sermon I re- 
newed my plea for a church, and mentioned the 
five-hundred-dollar check in my pocket, ready to 
add to the one thousand dollars, if only we could 
secure that sum then and there. I asked a gen- 
tleman to come forward and keep a record of 
the pledges as they were made. I called first for 
one-hundred-dollar subscriptions; only one person 
responded. Then for seventy - five - dollar pledges; 
again but one answer. Then for fifty-dollar offers; 
several of these were made. When the twenty- 
five-dollar pledges were called for, the responses 
were so numerous that I began to feel the whole 
amount would be obtained. Finally, when I asked 
for the ten-dollar gifts an old and poorly dressed 
man sitting near the front cried out in a shrill voice : 

"Pit me down for ten dollars, Mr. Bishop." 

I hesitated, fearing he could not afford so much; 
but the gentleman who was keeping the record re- 
assured me, saying: 

" He's all right. That's old Huckleberry Jim. 
He's rich, and got money in the bank. He could 
afford to give fifty dollars. He's getting eight dol- 
lars a gallon for his huckleberries at Spokane." 

The congregation was dismissed with the cheering 
news that the money was all in sight. 

The next morning I had to leave. As I was on 

my way to the station two men met me, and one of 

them said : 

90 



THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

" Bishop, come along with us. The train will not 
be here for an hour, and we want to use you. We 
might as well raise some more money for that church, 
for we will surely need it before we get through, and 
we can do better while you are with us." 

We held up before the open door of a corner 
saloon. 

"Come this way, Steve," said one of my com- 
panions, addressing the proprietor. As he reluc- 
tantly came forward my friend went on: "Steve, 
this is the Bishop, and he is building a church, and 
we want twenty-five dollars out of you." 

"All right," said Steve. "Will you take it now, 
or do you just want my name?" 

"Well, if it's all the same to you, we'll take the 
cash." 

Having paid up himself, Steve at once became an 
enthusiastic friend of the new church movement, 
and proceeded to lead out to us, one by one, such 
of his customers as he thought might help. We 
then went on to the neighboring saloons, and be- 
tween three and four hundred dollars were added to 
the fund. In a short time the church was built, 
and is to-day a self-supporting parish, and has been 
the means of much wholesome and uplifting influ- 
ence in that neighborhood. 

At Wardner, Mullan, and Murray churches were 
also erected. It was during my first visit to Mur- 
ray that a memorable service was held. A heated 

9 1 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

political campaign was in full blast. Party lines 
were closely drawn, and the local papers were in- 
dulging in bitter personalities. The large hall in 
which the service was held was constructed of 
boards with no plaster to deaden the sound. Im- 
mediately adjoining it, and separated only by the 
thin board partition, full of holes caused by knotty 
lumber, was the saloon. The clanking of glasses 
and bottles, and also the conversation of the men, 
could be distinctly heard. During the time of ser- 
vice, therefore, the kind-hearted saloon-keeper was 
good enough to close shop, and even to invite his 
customers to attend church and "hear the Bishop 
talk." They came; and, naturally enough, many 
of the fellows fresh from their drinks were hardly 
able to realize just where they were. But there 
was one local Democratic leader particularly far 
gone. It just happened that the subject of my 
sermon was the parable of the Pharisee and the 
Publican. In developing the theme I proceeded to 
condemn the pride and self-complacency of the 
Pharisee, and, in correspondingly strong language, 
to praise the Publican for his humility and self- 
abasement. From the start, my Democratic friend 
got the impression that I was delivering a political 
speech, and every time I used the word "Publican" 
he understood me to say "Republican." He tried 
to bear it patiently at first, and only expressed him- 
self in low mutterings, almost inaudible. But as I 
went on to hold up the Publican &s an example for 

9? 



THE CXEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

all men to follow his self-control gave way. He 
came back at me with great earnestness and took 
issue with my statements, until it became necessary, 
despite his violent protests, for his friends to carry 
him out bodily. The service over, the lights were 
once more turned on in the saloon, and, as I was 
afterwards told, the Democratic champion had his 
opportunity. 

" Did you ever hear such stuff as that Bishop got 
off?" he said. "He just boosted the Republican 
party all through his speech, and didn't have a 
damned word to say for the Democrats." 

The story soon spread throughout the county, 
and the local Republican paper did not fail to make 
all possible capital out of it. The editor said: 

" Here is a fair specimen of what the Democratic 
party stands for. Some of them are condemning 
the Bishop for preaching against them. As a mat- 
ter of fact he made no reference to politics, but 
simply preached the Gospel. Will any man of in- 
telligence vote for a party that does not know the 
difference between a Publican and a Republican? 
The incident of last night," continued the editor, 
"suggests the sad experience of a Democratic news- 
paper man in Iowa. That State was so hopelessly 
Republican that he found it impossible to make a 
living by publishing his paper there; so he packed 
up his printing-press, and left the town, and estab- 
lished himself in Missouri. He selected a growing 

93 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

and prosperous county-seat; but, after spending a 
year in Missouri, he became discouraged, and re- 
turned to his Iowa home. His friends were sur- 
prised to see him back, and one of them said : 

"'Why, Scott, what are you doing here? I 
thought you were running a Democratic paper in 
Missouri. ' 

"'I have been,' was the reply. 

"'Why did you leave?' 

"'Because I wanted to,' he answered. 

"'Why, that is strange, Scott! Was it a good 
town?' 

"'Yes, a cracking good town.' 

" ' A good farming country ?' 

'"The best in the world.' 

" ' Any Democrats there ?' 

"'Yes, nothing but Democrats. The woods are 
full of them.' 

"'Well, then, why on earth did you leave?' " 

"'To tell you the truth,' said Scott, 'the darned 
fools can't read.'" 

My readers may find themselves wondering 
whether there is much opportunity in the Western 
mining -camp for religion and the church. One 
must frankly admit that the life of the average 
miner is a peculiarly hard one. From the necessity 
of the case the mines must run on Sunday as well 
as every other day; otherwise the water would flow 
in and destroy in one day the labor of weeks. The 

94 



THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

pumps must be kept going. When Sunday comes, 
therefore, it finds one-half of the men hard at work, 
and the other half must needs rest from their labors. 
When they have an evening off, if it happens to be 
Sunday, many of them will go to church, and, when 
there, no one is more appreciative and attentive 
than the miner. The minister finds abundant op- 
portunity to exercise his gifts of service in dealing 
with him individually; in learning to know when 
he is accessible, and where; in seeing that he is pro- 
vided with a bright, attractive reading-room, where 
the papers and magazines can be read, and where a 
game of pool, of billiards, or cards, or checkers can 
be innocently indulged in; in helping to provide a 
simple hospital where he can be cared for when sick 
or wounded; in short, for the gospel of service and 
fraternity there is not only always an abundant op- 
portunity, but often a most pathetic need. If the 
minister of Christ is to be of any real help to men in 
such environment, he must first of all be a manly 
man with a genius for service born of loving sym- 
pathy. This will give him much patience, and fill 
his heart with hope, so that he will believe in every 
man's capacity to receive good. It is the personal 
rather than the official touch that wins. Nay, is it 
not true always and everywhere that, back of the 
sermon, and the ecclesiastical setting, there must be 
the consciousness of a living man, who really cares 
for his brother man and has a message which he 
fully believes in and yearns to deliver? The men 

95 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

of the mining-camps and ranch towns in Wyoming 
and Idaho used to implore me to send them " a good 
mixer." As they interpreted that expression it was 
not far afield from a right diagnosis of what is need- 
ed everywhere. To do men good they must be met 
on their own ground. It is not a loss of dignity, 
but the truest dignity, to identify one's self with the 
sorrows, anxieties, and even with the joys of those 
whom it is an honor to serve just because they are 
men ; to be as the great apostle said he tried to be — 
"all things to all men" — that he might win some. 

Among the interesting experiences of my life in 
the Far West was the meeting from time to time, 
in some remote and isolated corner of that vast hid- 
ing-place, a striking personality — some man or 
woman of distinction and attainments, whom ad- 
verse circumstances or tragic fate had driven to 
seek shelter and retirement in a strange land. In 
Wardner, when the camp was new, I met a man 
who impressed me as a person of unusual culture. 
He had a striking face, and his grace of manner and 
a certain elegance and dignity of bearing convinced 
me that he was no ordinary individual. He after- 
wards took me somewhat into his confidence, and 
told me a part of his history. Were I to mention 
his name, those of my readers familiar with the 
American stage forty years ago would recognize 
him as a noted actor of that day. He had enjoyed 
the friendship and intimacy of Booth, Forrest, Bar- 
rett, and other well-known artists. There was some 

96 



THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

tragedy connected with his life which explained his 
presence in that remote mining - camp. Though 
very poor, and compelled, with his invalid wife, to 
live in a little log cabin and practice the most rigid 
economy, he was highly esteemed. He eked out a 
precarious living by writing for the newspapers ; for 
he had good literary taste, and was the master of a 
polished and graceful style. It was always a priv- 
ilege to meet the old man. He was a lover of good 
books, a student and interpreter of Shakespeare, and 
possessed brilliant conversational gifts. If he could 
secure an appreciative hearer he would pour forth 
by the hour a .stream of reminiscences, abounding 
in the most delightful incidents of his long and 
eventful career as a public man. He became deeply 
interested in the church, and admired enthusias- 
tically the dignity and beauty of the Book of Com- 
mon Prayer. In his early days, simply as an act of 
friendship, he had given several prominent clergy- 
men lessons in elocution, with special reference to 
the proper reading of the service, which he could 
render with an impressiveness and appreciation 
rarely found. It was to the credit of the people of 
that mining -camp, though thoroughly typical of 
Western discrimination and appreciation, that they 
ministered with lavish and unremitting kindness to 
the needs of this aged couple, and did not suffer 
them to lack any of the simple comforts of life in 
their declining years. I have been told that the 
funeral of my venerable friend bore silent but elo- 

97 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

quent witness to the profound reverence and affec- 
tionate regard in which he was held by the entire 
community. 

Before leaving the Cceur d'Alene region, I wish 
to pay grateful tribute to the excellent work ac- 
complished among the Cceur d'Alene Indians by 
the French Jesuit missionaries. The name Cceur 
d'Alene (heart of an owl), is said to have been first 
used by the Indians as a term of reproach against 
the hard-hearted and sharp practices of the French 
traders in their dealings with them. Whether this 
tradition is founded on fact or not, it may be con- 
fidently affirmed that the French missionaries more 
than atoned for any wrong done these simple red- 
men by their more avaricious countrymen. In all 
the annals of missionary heroism there are few 
chapters which evince more devotion and unselfish 
love for men than those which recount the fasci- 
nating story of the conversion of the Cceur d'Alene 
tribe. A few young Jesuit priests of excellent birth 
and fine culture, who might have won fame and 
honor at home, left their native France, crossed the 
ocean, penetrated the thick forests of the North- 
west, and literally gave their lives for these red-men. 
As one by one they fell in the discharge of their 
sacred duties their places were filled by priests of 
the same splendid spirit and type. The mission 
was founded more than sixty years ago. As a re- 
sult we have to-day a tribe of Indians peaceable 
and peace-loving, deeply religious, self-supporting, 

98 



THE CCEUR D'ALENE COUNTRY 

fond of their homes and children, and living the life 
of civilized man. A visit to the old mission church 
near Lake St. Joseph will repay the Western trav- 
eller. The building is still used for worship, though 
constructed with wooden pins instead of nails, and 
in the most primitive fashion. As one meets, as I 
have had the privilege of meeting, the venerable 
priest who has spent his entire ministry in this re- 
mote and obscure mission, one instinctively feels 
that any of the world's emoluments are poor and 
cheap as compared with the essential dignity and 
moral beauty of such a life and such a service. 

LOFC. 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

DURING my winter visits to the East for the 
purpose of raising funds for Wyoming and 
Idaho I frequently met young men who sought my 
advice about the hunting-grounds of the West. I 
was often able to give them suggestions which re- 
sulted in enjoyable holidays and fine sport. Twenty 
years ago big game was abundant in certain parts 
of my missionary field. Elk, deer and antelope 
were to be found in large "bunches" in both terri- 
tories; and in the Kootenai country of northern 
Idaho there were still fine specimens of mountain- 
sheep and caribou, which even then were rapidly 
disappearing. It sometimes happened that my 
young Eastern friends were entirely without experi- 
ence of the West and its ways, and so became easy 
prey to the fun-loving cow-puncher of the plains, or 
to the designing mountain -guide, who, after "fleec- 
ing" him of his money and duping him in many 
ways, would expose him to the ridicule of the 
scornful Westerner as a " tenderfoot. " In a country 
where wit was the only passport to success, it was 
deemed entirely justifiable thus to take advantage 

IOO 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

of the verdancy and gullibility of the new-comer. 
Such lessons were considered a test of true man- 
hood. While sometimes humiliating, they were 
usually wholesome, and, if taken in the proper 
spirit, became an initiation into that atmosphere of 
comradeship and good-will which was well worth 
the bitter experience. The critical question was, 
" Is this man made of the stuff that will stand the 
racket?" If so, his future was assured. If not, he 
might as well "pull up his stakes" and leave the 
country, for there was no place for one of his caliber. 

A certain young man of my acquaintance, from 
the city of New York, had been reading stories of 
the elk and caribou of northern Idaho. He had 
some friends who had been very successful, and not 
a little boastful, in killing big game in the Adiron- 
dacks, where his uncle had a summer camp. He 
possessed abundant means, and his ambition was to 
throw in the shade the achievements of these fort- 
unate Nimrods of his acquaintance. His knowledge 
of hunting was entirely theoretical, having been ac- 
quired from books alone. He conceived the idea of 
trying his luck in the Rockies. 

Arriving in Spokane, he met at the hotel some 
young men who found him delightful company be- 
cause of his generous purse and his eagerness to 
gulp down all the stories, however fabulous, of the 
wonderful Kootenai country, where the caribou 
abounded. First of all, they suggested that he 
must supply himself with a proper outfit. A buck- 

IOI 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

skin hunting-suit, a strong army -saddle, a pair of 
six-shooters, a good Winchester — these things were 
of prime importance. The new friends went with 
him and helped him to select these articles, and had 
them expressed to Kootenai. They then told him 
of a celebrated guide whose services would be in- 
dispensable. His name was Tom Canfield. They 
said he came high, but he always found the game. 
He was accordingly written to and engaged, to be 
ready to start on a certain day. The guide was 
authorized to hire for the New-Yorker the best 
horse available, irrespective of cost. It seemed to 
my young friend that his plans were simply perfect. 
He felt that never in his life had he met such kind 
and accommodating people. He yearned to give 
them some substantial expression of his apprecia- 
tion; and so, the night before he left Spokane, he 
invited to a champagne dinner at his hotel some 
eight or ten of his newly made Western comrades. 
It was a memorable feast, and the young Easterner 
was all but overwhelmed with the good wishes for 
his success in the woods, of which they assured him 
there could not be the least doubt. The next day 
they accompanied him to the train, and gave him 
three rousing cheers as the Northern Pacific pulled 
out of the station. 

Arriving at Kootenai he found Tom, the famous 
guide, all ready to receive him. They were to start 
the following day. A sure-footed hunting-horse, 
well trained, had been secured for the New-Yorker; 

102 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

and to carry their necessary impedimenta a good, 
faithful pack-horse, accustomed to follow anywhere 
at a respectful distance, had been obtained. As 
for Tom's own mount, my young friend was sur- 
prised and somewhat disappointed to find that it 
was not a horse at all but a donkey, called Pete. 
But the guide assured him that he always rode 
Pete, and that money could not buy him; that the 
little beast knew the woods, and could take them 
infallibly to the game. They spent a busy after- 
noon and evening in getting all things ready for an 
early start. The New-Yorker made quite a sensa- 
tion at the Kootenai hotel, and the natives gazed 
with amazement upon his style and the glory of his 
outfit; for Tom had heralded his coming, and the 
whole settlement knew that the young Easterner 
had "heaps" of money, and that the guide was get- 
ting a "soft snap." 

The morning dawned, and, after an early break- 
fast, they set out. The country was newly opened 
up, and the thick woods grew close to the little 
hamlet which had been cut out of almost solid 
timber. The hunters struck a trail at once down a 
gradual incline, at the foot of which was a shallow 
river to be forded. When they got well into the 
woods the guide said: 

" I reckin, mister, you hain't never been in these 
diggin's before, have you?" 

"No, but I have been in the Adirondacks." 

"Oh yes, I've heered of 'em. That's where the 
103 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

tenderfeet hunt. But I reckin you 'ain't never been 
on a reel hunt before. Now I jest want to say to 
you that you talk too loud. You see, it's this here 
way. These here wild critturs is mighty skittish, 
and when you git 'em right skeered-like once they 
keep out of sight." 

Tom was talking almost in a whisper, and with 
intense earnestness. The New-Yorker was duly im- 
pressed for the moment. 

"Now you was a-axin' me awhile ago," said 
Tom, "when we would be apt to run up agin any 
game. Almost any time. They feed right up close 
to that there hotel. You see this is a brand-new 
clearin', and the game 'ain't hardly found out that 
we're here." 

"But," said the young man in a loud and ex- 
cited voice, "do you think we will see a caribou?" 

"For God's sake, man, don't talk so loud. You'll 
drive 'em all away. Sure, we'll see a caribou. 
Didn't I tell you that this here jack, old Pete, will 
find 'em ? Now lemme tell you 'bout old Pete. He 
looks honery, and he's a jackass, and he 'ain't got 
no style, but I tell you he gits there all the same. 
It 'pears like he kin smell game a mile off, and he's 
got a eye on him like a eagle. It ain't no use for 
you nor me to bother our heads about findin' the 
game. Old Pete '11 do that for us, and he'll do it a 
h ap sight better nor you nor me. Then, you see, 
I've got him trained. When he spots a deer he 
draps right down on his knees jest once. That 

104 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

means a buck. When he draps twice, that means a 
bull elk. He don't take no notice of does nor cows. 
When he draps three times, then look out as sure 
as hell for a caribou." 

This was very startling to the new hunter, and he 
looked at the guide incredulously. 

"Look here, Tom. What are you trying to give 
me?" 

"Sh!" motioning with his hand, "not so loud, for 
God's sake. Take it cool, stranger. I'm givin' you 
straight goods 'bout old Pete. He's built jest that 
way, and if you'll only be still, you'll see him per- 
form by-and-by." 

Presently they came to the river. While the 
stream was shallow, yet the water in the deepest 
place came up to the horse's belly. The New- 
Yorker noticed with some amusement and interest 
that, instead of simply drawing up his feet out of 
reach of the water, the guide extended his legs, 
without bending them, directly in front and almost 
horizontally; but he explained this to himself by 
reflecting that old Pete was short of stature, and 
such unusual posture became, therefore, necessary. 
Crossing the river, Tom motioned to my friend, and 
said, almost in a whisper: 

"Now, no more talkin', stranger. The deer will 
be comin' down here to git a drink, and old Pete is 
likely to spot one and drap on his knees any time." 

Bearing a little to the right, they followed a trail 
through some beautiful pine timber. Glancing 

10=; 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

back, the Easterner- saw the faithful pack-horse fol- 
lowing at a respectful distance. Suddenly Tom 
stopped and said: 

"Now, when you see old Pete drap on his knees, 
don't say nothin', but git off your horse, and throw 
the bridle-rein and follow close behind me." 

Stealthily they proceeded through the silent 
forest. Without warning old Pete dropped on his 
knees. Dismounting, Tom beckoned to the young 
man to come nearer. 

"Great Scott!" exclaimed the tenderfoot, in an 
awed voice, "I must have that donkey. He 
dropped just once, didn't he? Does that mean a 
buck?" 

"You bet your life it does." 

"Where is he?" said the tenderfoot. 

" Now you got me. Old Pete can't tell where he 
is. He ain't no Bible jackass. He can't talk. But 
you bet he sees him all right. It's up to us to lo- 
cate him. Hush talkin' now, and follow me." 
Peering through the timber, he whispered: "There 
he is. See him? Gosh, he's a dandy! Jest come 
here and look down my rifle, and I'll show him to 
you." 

"Oh yes, I see him," said the young man. "I 
see him, and he's a beauty." 

"Now," whispered Tom, "jest crawl up behind 
this here big pine, and take rest and let him have it 
good. Aim a little low, right behind the shoulder. 
He's standin' jest right for you." 

106 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

Bang! went the rifle of the tenderfoot, and the 
deer made a graceful bound, evidently unscathed, 
and disappeared. 

"Too bad! You shot clean over him. Well, 
never mind. There's more where he come from. 
But hain't you got the buck ague? You're kind o' 
tremblin'. You have to take it mighty cool." 

The tenderfoot was greatly excited, and, despite 
his guide's protest, would talk too loud. 

" But, Tom, what will you take for the donkey ? 
I must have him for the Adirondacks." 

"Oh, he ain't for sale. He's my fortune. Be 
quiet, my friend. These woods is full of deer." 

Mounting again, they followed up the trail. In 
his tumultuous excitement and eagerness for the 
fray it seemed a long time to the tenderfoot before 
old Pete dropped. But just as the trail curved to 
the left Pete again came down. 

"I see him," said Tom. "No wonder old Pete 
drapped. Come this way. Any fool could hit that 
buck." 

Sure enough, there on a little knoll not fifty yards 
away, stood a fine deer, his antlers proudly aloft. 
The tenderfoot took deliberate aim, and the buck 
dropped. The young hunter's pent-up emotions 
could no longer be suppressed. He yelled, threw 
his cow-boy hat in the air, and jumped ' up and 
down, crying: 

"Hurrah for old Pete! Hurrah for old Pete!" 
He rushed to the donkey, patted him on the head, 

107 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

laughed and yelled again. "Tom, what will you 
take for him? I've got the money, and just must 
have him." 

"Say, I reckin you never shot much big game, 
did you? They ain't no more deer in these diggin's 
now. You've jest raised hell with 'em, stranger. 
We might as well cross the divide and take a bite of 
grub down by the North Fork where there's water. 
We'll let our critturs feed and rest, and then we'll 
cross the river for elk and caribou." 

Before leaving the buck, Tom had cut off the fine 
head, jerked the quarters and hung them up, and 
tied to his saddle a piece of venison for supper. 

"We'll get these when we come back to-morrow," 
he said. 

"Do you think these horns will be safe here, 
Tom? I wouldn't lose them for my right hand." 

" Oh yes, I know these here woods, every inch o' 
'em. I could come to this here tree blindfold." 

After the lunch by the river-bank, which both en- 
joyed, the tenderfoot handed Tom a fine cigar as he 
saw him about to light his old pipe. The three 
"critturs" were still feeding, for the grass in the 
river-bottom was long and tender. The saddles and 
pack had been removed, and men and beasts were 
refreshed. It must have been about two o'clock 
before they started to cross the North Fork. Over 
their noonday snack the tenderfoot had plied Tom 
with endless questions, and again tried to buy old 
Pete "for the Adirondacks." But the guide had 

108 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

steadily refused to entertain any proposition of the 
kind. He had, however, told the tenderfoot that, in 
all likelihood, there would be no more game that day. 

"You see, it's this way: the caribou in this here 
mountain feed higher up, and we won't strike 'em 
till to-morrow morning. Still, you can't never be 
sure 'bout these here woods. Old Pete may drap 
any time, so don't talk, and make jest as little 
racket as you kin help. I reckin it's goin' to be a 
bull elk next time. They ain't no caribou this low 
down. Mum's the word now, stranger. These is 
fine woods, and old Pete is a feelin' scrumptious." 

The trail was growing more and more indistinct, 
and frequently the hunters encountered fallen tim- 
ber, and had to pick their way with care. 

"Partner," said Tom, "this is a great elk country 
we're comin' to now. If I ain't mightily fooled, 
from the way old Pete is act in' he is gettin' ready 
for a bull. Don't do no loud talkin'. The wind is 
blowin' our way, and that's in our favor, for it beats 
all how them elk can sniff a human." 

Not a word passed between the men for a period 
that seemed almost interminable to the untrained 
and effusive tenderfoot. Emerging from the dense 
forest, they suddenly came into a sort of green 
meadow-like opening, where the sun could have fair 
play. Tom pointed to a bare, dusty place, and said, 
in a low voice: 

"See that waller. They've been there to-day. 
I'll stake my scalp on it." 

109 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLx\INS 

Passing quietly through the opening, they again 
entered the woods, and there were more fallen logs 
to climb over. The standing timber was not quite 
so thick, and at times one could see quite a distance 
up the divide. The stillness was ahnost oppressive 
to the tenderfoot, who kept his gaze fastened on 
old Pete. Suddenly the donkey stopped and went 
down on his knees twice. The tenderfoot was close 
behind, and Tom, dismounting, turned and motion- 
ed to him. He promptly got down, threw the 
bridle-rein over his horse's head, and, Winchester in 
hand, he noiselessly approached on tiptoe. 

"Do you see him?" he whispered. 

"Wait a minute, partner," said Tom, as he 
strained his eyes through the trees. "Yes, one, 
two, three. Golly! There's a big bunch on 'em, 
with a whoppin' old bull in the lead. Come here, 
and I can show 'em to you. Dead easy ! And they 
'ain't saw us, neither. They're comin' this way. 
You'd better drap down behind this big tree and be 
all ready. Now, don't shoot till you've got a dead 
cinch. You take the big bull in the lead. I'll 
bring down one of them f oiler in'." 

They had left the horses in a thick underbrush 
where they were hidden from sight. When the 
herd came within fairly short range both men fired. 
Tom brought down his bull, but the leader stagger- 
ed, fell, and, rising again, disappeared. 

"Oh, partner, you've got him all right. You've 
got him. They hardly ever fall dead in their 

no 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

tracks. Sometimes when you hit 'em right in the 
heart them big bulls will run a mile, but yourn 
ain't a-goin' to run no mile. I bet we'll find him 
stretched out on the ground not fur from here." 

True to Tom's prophecy, it was not long before 
they found the dead bull. The tenderfoot was wild 
with joy, and his gratitude to old Pete was unbound- 
ed. "I tell you, Tom, he's a good one. What a sen- 
sation he would make in the Adirondacks! Now, 
look here, Tom, what will you take for him?" 

Tom laughed, and made no reply. After secur- 
ing the heads of the bulls, and as much meat as 
they could conveniently hang up for safe keeping 
until it was possible for Tom to come back for it, 
they moved on. The day had been a strenuous one 
for the New-Yorker, and now that the exhilaration 
was over, he realized for the first time that he was 
tired. A buck and a bull in one day was better luck 
by far than Tom had led him to expect, and as the 
sun was setting he welcomed the suggestion of the 
guide that they go into camp for the night. A cosey, 
sheltered spot was found near the river, and they 
soon had e cheerful camp-fire and a good dinner of 
savory venison and coffee, for Tom was an excellent 
cook. The New-Yorker thought he had never en- 
joyed a meal with keener relish. That night, as he 
crawled under his blankets, a strange sense of satis- 
faction possessed him, and as he fell asleep he was 
saying to himself: " If only I could take old Pete to 
the Adirondacks!" 

in 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

A bright and early start was made next morning. 
It had been decided that, if the caribou could be 
secured early in the day, they would get back to 
Kootenai that evening. Tom felt somewhat doubt- 
ful, but was not without hope. It must have been 
nearly eight o'clock, and after they had been ascend- 
ing the mountain circuitously for more than two 
hours, that Tom said: 

"Now, partner, if old Pete don't skeer up a 
caribou in these here woods we're comin' to, it will 
be the first time he's ever gone back on me. Keep 
close to me, and don't talk." 

Slowly and as noiselessly as possible they picked 
their way along. Elated as the tenderfoot was at 
having killed a deer and an elk, yet to fail in bring- 
ing down a caribou would have been the keenest 
disappointment. Tom also fully realized that a 
caribou was the real object of the hunt. Hence, 
there was a sort of tension of feeling and interest 
that was evident in his movements. Not one word 
had passed between the men for some time, when, 
to his great delight, the New-Yorker saw old Pete 
drop three times on his knees. He looked eagerly 
ahead to see if he could catch a glimpse of his first 
caribou; but in vain. He then turned appealingly 
to his guide. 

"Wait a minute," said Tom. "I know old Pete 
seen him all right, but the brush is mighty thick 
here." He searched the distant bushes for some 
time. At last he whispered: "There! There he is. 

112 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

He's walkin' along as if he owned a gold-mine, and 
he's a dandy." 

The tenderfoot had caught a glimpse of him, and 
had levelled his Winchester. The caribou was just 
behind a cluster of small pines, and evidently had 
not scented the hunters. 

"Take your time, partner. Get a good bead on 
him." 

At the first shot the caribou fell upon his knees, 
but quickly recovered himself and started to run. 

"Let him have it again," said Tom. 

The second shot brought him down. An instant 
later the proud New-Yorker was standing trium- 
phant over his prostrate bulk. No words can de- 
scribe the scene. There was no longer need of re- 
straint, and my young friend abandoned himself to 
the wild intoxication of the supreme moment of his 
life. 

"Well, Tom, what a time we have had! Now I 
can go back East and die happy. I've got him. 
I've got him. Dear old Pete! I owe it all to you, " 
and he threw himself upon the donkey's neck and 
embraced him. 

It was necessary to strap the head of the caribou 
behind the saddle of the New-Yorker, for the other 
two heads would be all that the pack-horse could 
carry. When they started back down the moun- 
tain-side one could have heard the voice of the vic- 
torious hunter a long way off. By this time his de- 
sire to possess old Pete as his own had become his 

113 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

master passion. He renewed again his offer, and 
pleaded with Tom. Finally, the guide said: 

"You seem kind o' stuck on this here mule. I 
never lowed to sell old Pete, but bein' as it's you, 
and you got your heart so sot on him, maybe we 
can trade after all. 'Ceptin' for his huntin', old 
Pete ain't worth no big pile of money. He's small, 
and he's honery lookin', but you see what he kin do, 
and he's all the livin' I've got. Many's the dollar 
he's made for me." 

"Well, Tom, what's your price for him?' , 

" I never sot no price on him. He didn't cost me 
no great pile, but, as I was sayin', he's all I've got. 
Could you afford to give me three hundred dollars 
for him?" 

"Yes, I'll take him, and take him quick. That's 
a bargain. Get off and let me ride him. Here's 
two one-hundred-dollar bills and a draft on New 
York for a hundred dollars more." 

The two men dismounted. The exchange was 
made and the money paid over. And now the 
New-Yorker's cup of happiness was full to over- 
flowing. There was still a long ride before them, 
after the other heads had been picked up, and Tom 
had blazed a few trees leading to the places where 
the meat had been left. At noontime they stopped 
a little while, and made a meal on the canned goods 
and crackers and cheese of which Tom had laid in a 
large supply. The trail was shady, and the faithful 
beasts of burden, with their heads turned towards 

114 



THE TENDERFOOT AND OLD PETE 

home, made better time than usual. The sun was 
just sinking in the West when they reached the little 
river near the settlement of Kootenai, whence they 
started. The tenderfoot, astride old Pete, plunged 
in first, Tom and the pack-horse following close be- 
hind. When they got well into the river the New- 
Yorker, in keeping his feet clear of the stream, 
raised his heels and touched the donkey in the 
flanks. True to his training, as soon as he felt the 
pressure there, old Pete dropped upon his knees, 
half submerging his rider. 

"Great Scott! Tom, what in thunder does he see 
now?" cried the frightened tenderfoot. 

"I can't tell you," complacently replied the 
guide, "unless he sees a sucker." Then to the 
donkey: "Get up from there, old Pete. Don't you 
know you're on your way to the Adirondacks?" 

9 



CHAPTER IX 

SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

AMONG the most serious difficulties which con- 
i\ front a western missionary bishop is that of 
securing well-equipped ministers to assist him in 
his work. The salaries are necessarily so small that 
he is compelled to insist that men shall come un- 
married, and this condition is made more impera- 
tive from the fact that social life in the mining- 
camp renders it a very undesirable place for women 
and children. As a result, the bishop must either 
take young, inexperienced men fresh from the semi- 
naries, or he becomes the victim of a certain type 
of nomadic clergymen who move from diocese to 
diocese, never remaining long in one place because 
never succeeding anywhere. Thus, while the very 
wisest, most efficient, and devoted men are required 
to cope with the peculiar difficulties of a new coun- 
try, and lay wisely the foundations of a new Chris- 
tian civilization, such men are simply beyond his 
reach, save in a few exceptional cases. If a zealous 
and gifted young man is moved in his heart to go 
West, his success soon makes him a shining -mark 
for some comfortable Eastern parish, and he is lost 

116 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

to the missionary field. Such men frequently ac- 
complish excellent work while they remain, and I 
am glad to observe that a much larger number of 
well-equipped men are offering themselves year by 
year for this glorious work. Indeed, the tide of the 
missionary spirit is steadily rising, and the time is 
not far distant when, by virtue of the growing en- 
thusiasm for missions, the church's noblest and best 
young men will claim the privilege of having a 
share in this heroic work in the mission field. It 
has never seemed to me too much to ask that every 
young clergyman who consecrates his life to the 
service of his fellow-man should be willing to spend 
at least the first four or five years of his ministry in 
the difficult and isolated stations of the church's 
frontier. 

When, in 1887, I found myself the Bishop of 
Wyoming and Idaho, there were eight clergymen of 
our church in the entire field, four in one territory 
and four in the other. The work had suffered sadly 
from the lack of Episcopal supervision, owing to the 
long vacancy; and it was evident that if any ad- 
vance was to be made recruits must be secured. 
The case was so desperate that I felt disposed to 
take almost any earnest and godly man, whether an 
ordained clergyman or not. 

It was at this time that I received a letter from a 
young Irishman. He informed me that he had just 
read in the Irish Ecclesiastical Gazette that I was the 
youngest Bishop in the American church, and that 

117 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

I had the largest diocese; that I was sadly in need 
of men; and that my people were composed largely 
of miners and cow-boys and Indians. He begged to 
offer himself unreservedly for the work in my great 
territory. He was sorry that he was only a layman, 
but hoped some day to be ordained, and reminded 
me that he had had much experience in making ad- 
dresses and in Christian work; that he was in the 
employ of the Primitive Methodist Evangelization 
Society, an organization in communion with the 
Church of Ireland, which had for its object preach- 
ing the simple Gospel to the poor and neglected; 
that he was associated with a number of young men 
in this good work, and, having been blessed with a 
measure of success, felt anxious to cast in his lot 
with me in the Far West. He added, that so far as 
salary was concerned, that was a matter of indiffer- 
ence to him, as his great object was to win souls, 
and he felt sure that the Lord would provide for his 
temporal needs. In my dire extremity I could not 
but regard this letter as providential, though I felt 
the importance of proceeding with all due caution. 
I replied that I was greatly pleased with the tone 
and spirit of his letter and his evident zeal in the 
good cause; that I was disposed to consider his ap- 
plication for work, only I must ask him to be good 
enough to refer me to some prominent clergymen 
and laymen who knew him well, and to whom I 
could write for information as to his qualifications 
and character. In due course of mail I received 

118 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

another letter with the names of well-known dig- 
nitaries in the Irish church to whom he referred me. 
I wrote them, and I was fully reassured by their 
letters that the young man was entirely sincere and 
of an unblemished record, and that he possessed 
gifts which would fit him for a successful work. I 
therefore determined to receive him. Knowing 
that he was without funds, I sent him a draft for 
fifty dollars to help defray his expenses. In antic- 
ipation of his coming I arranged with the people in 
a coal-mining town in Wyoming to receive him as 
their missionary. The salary, even when supple- 
mented by a small grant from the Board of Mis- 
sions, was small; but the little flock was delighted 
at the prospect of having a pastor settled among 
them. My only regret was that his stipend was 
necessarily so inadequate, but I hoped that, being 
all alone, he could with economy manage to get on. 
Imagine my surprise, therefore, when a few days 
later I received a letter from him stating that my 
draft had reached him, and, while it was entirely 
unexpected, yet it was none the less acceptable; 
that he intended to sail in less than a week, and 
that, owing to the "mildness of the climate and the 
salubriousness of the air," of which he had read in 
the encyclopaedias, he proposed to bring a wife along 
with him. This was almost too much even for 
Episcopal patience; but I was powerless. Already 
my young friend and his bride must have sailed. 
It was impossible to head him off by cable, I 

119 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

hastened over to the mining-camp, and met in the 
evening at the company store around the stove, the 
prominent men of the little flock, and laid before 
them the sad predicament in which I found myself. 
Now, what could be done? The wife was surely 
coming. Immediately the mining boss spoke up : 

"Look here, Mr. Bishop, that's all right. Don't 
you worry about that young wife. The one thing 
this here camp needs is a nice lady. We're glad 
he's going to bring his bride. We can raise twice 
as much money for her as we can for the parson. 
I'll go around among the boys, and I know many of 
them will double their subscriptions when I tell 
them the good news. We'll take care of them all 
right." 

So I was in a measure comforted. I then began 
to be apprehensive about the severe climate in that 
bleak Wyoming camp, where the wind howled con- 
tinuously, and snow might be expected almost 
every month in the year. It was evident that my 
young friend had been reading about Southern Cali- 
fornia, and the tropical regions of America, and 
supposed he was coming into a land smiling with 
plenty and abounding in luxuriant flowers and 
vegetation. When he actually arrived and got off 
the train in the midst of a raging blizzard, it is said 
he looked around with evident dismay and in- 
quired: "But where are the poineapples?" But 
whatever disappointment the weather may have 
caused him and his charming young wife, there was 

120 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

no disappointment for the people themselves. He 
proved to be a jewel, and soon won the hearts of 
the miners and their families; and, as to the young 
wife, she was greatly beloved. In the fullest sense 
she was a helpmeet to her husband, unselfish, 
gentle, devout, scrupulously neat as a housekeeper. 
The humble rectory soon became the centre of re- 
fining and elevating influence in the little com- 
munity. After they had been there some months I 
made my first visitation to the mission where the 
young man had done such excellent work. Having 
received with much modesty my most sincere com- 
mendation, he said: 

" Bishop, would you like to secure another Irish- 
man?" 

" Indeed, I should be delighted," I answered, "if 
he is at all like you." 

"Oh," said he, "but he is far superior to me. 
He is an excellent preacher and most successful. 
He is one of my co-workers in the Primitive Meth- 
odist Society, and is a most eloquent man." 

"But," I inquired, "would such an able man be 
willing to come?" 

"Yes," he replied, "he is most anxious to come. 
I have written him about the work and the coun- 
try, and he longs to join us." 

"But," I continued, "have you told him of the 
small salary and the severe climate, and all the dis- 
couragements which surely await him?" 

"Yes," he answered, "he knows it all, but such 

121 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

difficulties do not dishearten him in the least. He 
is full of the missionary spirit." 

Finally, after satisfying myself that his friend 
was a worthy and useful man, I said: 

"One more question, my brother. Do you think 
he is such a man that the 'mildness of the climate 
and the salubriousness of the air' will induce to 
bring a wife along with him?" 

" Indeed he is," he replied. "That is just the 
point. He is engaged to my wife's sister." 

Of course, the prospect of getting two excellent 
missionaries instead of one led me to send another 
draft, and soon his friend came. These brethren 
have reflected honor upon their country, and won 
the respect of all who know them. From that 
same Irish society I obtained several more excellent 
men. 

In the course of time one came whom I placed in 
a very discouraging coal-camp. He was there for 
several years, and his salary was very small. Now 
and then as I met him he would hint about his 
"loneliness," and intimate that he would like to 
get married ; but I felt it my duty to advise him to 
wait until he should have a better place and a more 
comfortable income. One day he came to make 
me a visit. Before leaving he took my wife into 
his confidence, and begged her to use her influence 
with me to induce me to allow him to go to Ireland 
and bring over a wife. He told her he was en- 
gaged, and had been for five years; showed the 

122 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

young woman's picture, and said she was anxious 
to join him and help him in his work. My wife 
urged him to go to my study and tell me the whole 
story, assuring him of my sympathy and cordial 
consent. But he declined to do so, saying that I 
was much opposed to my young clergy getting mar- 
ried on such small salaries and bringing a wife to 
such wretched places as mining - camps. He im- 
plored Mrs. Talbot to say nothing to me until he 
had gone, and then to break it to me gently. So, 
when my genial young guest had departed, I was 
duly waited upon, and promptly yielded to every 
demand. 

A few weeks later I found myself the guest of the 
young missionary in his little sixty-dollar shack. I 
said: 

"And so you are engaged?" 

He blushed, and replied: 

"Yes, Bishop." 

"And you want to go over to Ireland and get 
her?" 

"Yes, very much." 

"Are you sure she will come back with you?" 

"Oh yes; we have been engaged for years, and I 
get letters from her every week. Here is her 
picture," showing me the picture of a beautiful 
young woman. 

"Do you mean to say," I asked, "that this lovely 
girl has promised to marry you and come to this 
camp?" 

123 




MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Yes, indeed," he replied, "she is eager to come." 

" But, my brother, do you realize how expensive 
it will be? It will cost a great deal of money for 
you to reach New York from here ; and then there is 
the passage over to Ireland, and the voyage back 
for two, and the long journey from New York to 
Wyoming." 

Still undismayed, he said: "I have figured it all 
out, and I have the money." 

"You have the money?" I asked. "Where did 
you get it? You have only been receiving eight 
hundred dollars a year." 

"Oh, I have saved it up, Bishop," he replied. 

"You have?" said I. "Then evidently I have 
been paying you too much." 

He laughed heartily, and then I congratulated 
him, and commended his rare financiering and good 
management, and told him I would gladly add a 
small check to show my appreciation. 

"But," I continued, "now, my dear fellow, I 
hope you are perfectly sure she will come back with 
you. You have been gone a long time, and the 
girls are sometimes a little uncertain. Just think 
how horrible it would be, after spending all that 
money and cherishing this beautiful dream for 
years, were she to change her mind." 

He took my facetious remarks good - naturedly, 
and laughed at the very idea that such a thing 
could possibly happen. This conversation took 
place early in September. 

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SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

The following October I was attending the gen- 
eral convention in Baltimore. Sitting at my desk 
in the House of Bishops, the page brought me a 
number of letters. Among them I recognized the 
familiar handwriting of my young friend and an 
Irish post-mark. Opening the letter, I read as fol- 
lows. I quote from memory, but substantially the 
letter as I received it: 

"My dear Bishop, — I have a sad, sad story to tell you. 
You remember you warned me lest the young lady to 
whom I was engaged might deceive me. On reaching Ire- 
land I went at once to the town in which she lives. She 
knew I was coming. As I was on my way to her house I 
met some of my old friends. One of them said: 'We are 
so glad to see you; but have you read yesterday's paper?' 
'What paper?' I asked. 'Why, our town paper, in which 
it is announced that your girl is engaged to another man,' 
mentioning his name. At first I thought they were jok- 
ing, but with much earnestness they assured me it was 
true. Still I could not believe it. I determined to go and 
see for myself. When I reached her home she did not re- 
ceive me as cordially as I had expected, and soon she told 
me what had happened. She said that she had waited 
and waited until hope deferred had made her heart-sick, 
and that, besides, she had always loved the other young 
man. It was a staggering blow. Think of the cruelty of 
it! She had waited until I actually got back to crush my 
heart with disappointment. Life seemed no longer worth 
living. I wished that the ground might open and swallow 
me up. I hardly knew which way to turn. My mother 
did all she could to console me. She told me I ought to 
congratulate myself that I had made such a narrow escape ; 
that the girl never was worthy of me, and that she always 
feared she might serve me in some such manner. She 
added: 'Now, my son, cheer up. Do not think of it any 

125 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

more. Let no one know what has happened. There are 
just as good fish in the sea as were ever caught. Do not 
mope around and distress yourself about that girl. Here 
is something that will interest you," showing me an in- 
vitation to a reception to be given me that week by my 
old friends and neighbors. I told my mother that I 
simply could not go to any reception ; that I felt more like 
going to bed; that my heart was broken. But she urged 
me to go, reminded me that I was young and that life was 
before me; that I must be brave and meet the world with 
courage; that not to go to the reception so kindly given 
would cause serious offence and call for explanations 
which would be embarrassing; that I simply must go. 
And so, Bishop, I went. There were many of my old 
friends present. Of course, in a way I was glad to see 
them, but I was in no frame of mind to enjoy anything. 
It required a terrible effort to keep up. But as the even- 
ing advanced I met a young lady whom I had known as a 
child. During my absence she had grown to womanhood. 
Oh, Bishop, I wish you could hear her play the piano! 
Such exquisite touch I never before heard! Then her 
voice! As she sang some of those beautiful hymns, like 
'Abide with Me' and 'Lead, Kindly Light,' it just seemed 
to me I was in heaven. Gradually I began to forget my 
sorrow. I lingered and she sang on. When I left I asked 
her if I could not come over the next morning and hear 
some more music. She said she would be glad to have me 
do so. So I went again. I then asked her if I could not 
come again in the afternoon. She said certainly I could. 
And then, Bishop, it occurred to me what a splendid mis- 
sionary she would make; and I thought of you. I knew 
you would have no respect for me if I did not bring a wife 
back with me. So I at last asked her if she did not want 
to be a missionary and go back with me. She said she 
did; that she had always wished to be a missionary. So 
we called in the old folks, and they gave us their blessing, 
and we are going to be married early in October, and 
leave at the same time I originally intended for America. 

126 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

Just one thing more, Bishop. Please do not let my people 
know that I am not bringing back the same girl I came 
over for." 

In this instance, again, I am most grateful to re- 
late that no mistake was made. Say what one may 
about the suddenness of it, a most kindly Provi- 
dence must have guided our young friend and more 
than compensated him for his disappointment. 

On one occasion a letter from the Bishop of 
Pittsburg arrived asking me if I could make use 
of a young Welshman who had been a pastor in a 
non-Episcopal church in the suburbs of Pittsburg. 
The Bishop represented him as devout and earnest, 
and as one who had made a change in his eccle- 
siastical relations from honorable motives of con- 
viction, and assured me that he had enjoyed the 
respect of the religious body from which he came. 
I had a little church vacant at Douglas, Wyoming. 
We had bought it from our Congregational brethren, 
and a number of their people had decided to throw 
in their lot with us. Of Episcopalians, strictly 
speaking, there was not one in the place ; but there 
was a strong desire on the part of many in the little 
community for an Episcopal church. I felt that as 
the new minister was unaccustomed to our services 
he would be, in this respect, only on a par with his 
flock, and they could gradually learn together. So 
I requested the Bishop to send him on. He arrived 
at the Episcopal residence at Laramie one Friday 
morning. The next Sunday I was under promise 

127 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

to have him installed in his new parish. When he 
presented himself at my front-door my heart sank 
within me. He was so diminutive, and so demure. 
But I gave him a cordial welcome. I soon ascer- 
tained that he was entirely unfamiliar with the 
Prayer-Book and our form of worship, and, so far 
from having any clerical vestments, he did not even 
know their names, or how they were to be worn. 
In reply to nearly every question I asked him he 
confessed to absolute ignorance, but assured me 
that he was sound on the doctrine of the apostolic 
succession. 

" But, my brother, do you know how to conduct 
the services?" 

" No, my lord, but I believe with all my soul in 
the doctrine of the apostolic succession.' ' 

"Have you ever taken any part in conducting 
one of our services?" 

"No, my lord, but I think the Bishop of Pitts- 
burg will assure you that I am stanch on the doc- 
trine of apostolic succession." 

It was rather discouraging. At length I vent- 
ured to beg him not to address me as "my lord," 
explaining to him that in America we are a very 
democratic people, and such titles of nobility are 
quite out of place. 

"Then what would your lordship have me call 
you?" 

"Just 'Bishop,' if you please." 

" Oh, my lord, excuse me, but it is impossible. I 
128 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

could never presume to be so familiar with your 
lordship." 

We had to start for Douglas the next morning, 
and there was no time to be lost. I first addressed 
myself to the problem of getting the little man 
properly vested. A large cassock had come in a 
missionary box, but when I tried it on him he was 
literally lost. But the good ladies of the household 
came to my rescue, and we cut off the sleeves, and 
about two feet of the length, and tucked up the 
back, until finally he made a very respectable ap- 
pearance in it. Then we found a little cotta in our 
boy choir which fitted him admirably. Next I began 
to drill him in the church service, and told him how 
to find the lessons, and how to announce them; and 
instructed him as to the postures to be observed. 
Taking him into the procathedral, I gave him some 
suggestions as to the reverent conduct of morning 
and evening prayer. My only comfort was that, 
even if he made mistakes, his congregation would 
not recognize them as such. Early the next day 
we left for Douglas. 

At that time the Cheyenne & Northern Railway 
was only built as far as the Platte River, and at the 
terminus, as was usual, there was a motley crowd of 
graders with their teams. When the day's work 
was over they made the night hideous with their 
drunken revels, firing off pistols, and yelling and 
swearing until sleep was next to an impossibility. 
All lived in tents. One of the officers of the crew 

I2Q 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

most kindly gave us a tent to ourselves, but even 
then my young brother was far from happy. Of 
course we had to sleep on the ground, and that al- 
most broke his heart; not that he cared for himself, 
but, said he: "Think of your lordship sleeping in 
this rude tent on the ground." Just then a pistol 
was fired off within a few feet of us. 

"Oh, my lord, are you hit?" 

By the candle-light I could see that he was pale 
with fright. I fear he passed a wretched and sleep- 
less night. 

The next morning we had to take the stage. I 
offered him my seat on the box with the driver, but 
he preferred to get inside. The motion of the stage 
and the tobacco - smoke made him deathly sick. 
When we reached the river we found it very high 
for fording. The water came into the coach, and 
the current was very swift. In truth, there was 
much danger in crossing, and I did not wonder 
that my little friend was alarmed. Once safely 
over, he was evidently much relieved, but very 
silent. 

We reached Douglas about six o'clock in the even- 
ing, Saturday. It was court week, and the hotel 
was crowded. I presented the new minister to the 
proprietor, as he was to board at the hotel and I 
wished him to feel at home. I asked the landlord 
if he could give us each a room. He was very 
sorry, but the hotel was so crowded there was only 
one room to spare. 

130 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

" If you and the young man will sleep together I 
think you will be comfortable," he said. 

" Very well," I replied. " How does that suit you, 
my brother?" 

" Oh, my lord, please excuse me. I could not do 
that. Think of my sleeping with your lordship!" 

It was in vain that I told him I often slept with 
my clergy, and considered myself fortunate to get a 
bed at all. I could do nothing with him. He said 
he would sleep on the floor. Later in the evening 
the proprietor came to me and said: 

" Bishop, I guess that little preacher is a tender- 
foot, ain't he?" 

"Yes," I said, "most tender." 

" Well, I have been able to make a new deal, and 
he can have a room all to himself." 

So the vexed question was settled. 

Early the next morning, Sunday, I heard a gentle 
rap on my door. It was the new minister. As I 
opened the door he said: 

"Oh, my lord, I have not been able to sleep for 
thinking of you. You have no valet, no one to 
wait on your lordship. I have come to ask if I may 
not have the honor of blackening your lordship's 
boots?" 

"Thank you," I said, "but I have already fin- 
ished that part of my toilet. Come in and put up 
your foot and let me give you a shine." 

"Oh, my lord, shocking! And does your lord- 
ship have to blacken your own boots?" 



MY people of the plains 

To a man brought up in the old country, with 
the ideas of dignity and deference and awe felt 
there for the person and office of a bishop, it was a 
great trial to the righteous soul of my little friend 
to note the habits of an American bishop. 

The hour of service drew nigh, and we went up 
to the little church in good time so I could give him 
one farewell rehearsal. According to the announce- 
ment he was to preach. He got through the ser- 
vice remarkably well, and, as he had been accus- 
tomed to extempore speaking, gave us an excellent 
sermon on the text "God is Love." The only de- 
parture from good form happened at the close of 
the sermon, when he said: 

" Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your 
kind attention. Good-bye, until this evening." 

It is greatly to the credit both of my young 
brother and of his people that their relations con- 
tinued for several years, and that he was greatly be- 
loved by the community.. In due time he passed 
his examinations, and was ordained. 

I am glad to be able to say that my experience 
with missionaries of other religious bodies was al- 
ways pleasant. Indeed, the denominational lines 
were less distinctly drawn on the frontier than in 
older communities. Occasionally, there would crop 
out a little good-natured rivalry between the 
churches. At one place where I had organized a 
"preachers* meeting," which was held in my study 
every Monday morning, there was an interesting 

132 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

passage-at-arms. For months the various ministers 
had met with me, and there had not been a jar or 
note of discord. But it happened that in the prose- 
cution of my work I had recently delivered a series 
of lectures on the claims of the Episcopal Church 
in its faith and ministry and sacraments. At the 
close of the lectures a large number of people offered 
themselves for confirmation. Of these, some had 
attended upon the ministrations of my several 
brethren of other churches. It was perfectly nat- 
ural that this should have aroused a little feeling, 
especially as I felt it my duty to dwell strongly upon 
the question of ordination and ministerial authority. 
So, on the Monday following the confirmation ser- 
vice, all gathered as usual, but I thought I could 
notice a little coolness of manner on the part of two 
or three of the ministers. It chanced that a young 
Baptist minister had recently come to town, but 
had never attended our " preachers' meeting." I 
had, therefore, called upon him and urged him to 
be present, and assured him of a fraternal welcome. 
He was there. When the meeting was called to 
order one of the brethren remarked that he under- 
stood the Rev. Mr. Blank had prepared a platform 
looking to the better organization of the preachers' 
meeting. Whereupon, I ventured to say that I did 
not see the need of any written platform; that 
hitherto we had met together very unconvention- 
ally, and all had proceeded amicably; and that I 
could not but feel that one reason of our perfect 

*33 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

agreement was the absence of any formal, written 
constitution. However, I added that if Brother 
Blank wished to present a platform I should be en- 
tirely willing to hear it read. It was then moved 
and carried that the platform be presented. It 
read as follows: 

"In order to promote that fraternal feeling which 
should subsist between all of God's people, and es- 
pecially between those whom He has set apart as 
leaders in his church, we hereby express our belief 
in and assent to the equal ministerial and ecclesi- 
astical authority of each other in the Church of God." 

Of course I saw at once the drift of the platform. 
It was a rebuke to my claims of an apostolic min- 
istry — the crux between them and myself. But I 
was determined not to take it to myself. Near by 
sat my kind and unsuspecting Baptist brother. I 
could see at a glance that the platform was just as 
applicable to him as to me. I arose and said : 

" Brethren, I am very sorry that this platform 
should be presented on this occasion particularly. 
We have invited here for the first time our Baptist 
brother. He is our guest. He came somewhat re- 
luctantly, as he had never met any of you, but I 
called on him and begged him to meet with us, and 
assured him of a must cordial and fraternal welcome. 
Now I deeply regret that he has scarcely taken his 
seat before you present for his signature a docu- 

i34 



SOME WYOMING AND IDAHO MISSIONARIES 

ment which you must all have known he cannot 
possibly sign. Our brother is a conscientious Bap- 
tist, and, as such, honestly believes that no one has 
been baptized who has not been immersed. Of 
course, he cannot recognize your ordination or mine, 
as from his point of view we have not even been 
baptized. He may grant us honest, and recognize 
us as Christians, but when you come to a question 
of ministerial authority he must draw the line. I 
appeal, brethren, on behalf of this our brother. 
This is the close of the nineteenth century, and not 
the age of the Inquisition. I believe our brother 
has as much right here as any of us, and I hope the 
platform will not be adopted." 

How well I remember the scene! My young 
Baptist brother stood up, and with much emotion 
said: 

"Brethren, I wish first of all to thank Brother 
Talbot for saying for me that which it would have 
been so difficult for me to say for myself. Brethren, 
I love you all, and, as Brother Talbot has said, I 
have no doubt you love the Master as devotedly as 
I do. I recognize you as Christians and as brethren, 
but as I read my Bible I can only find one mode of 
baptism — namely, immersion. I cannot, therefore, 
acknowledge your ministerial authority, as bap- 
tism is a prerequisite to the ministry. I am sorry 
that this platform has been presented, for I had 
looked forward with pleasure to our intercourse to- 
gether." He then resumed his seat. 

i35 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

Another minister arose. He said: 

"Brethren, I am amazed at this platform. I 
have preached the gospel all over the country, and 
I never heard such a platform as this. Of course, 
our Baptist brother cannot sign it, and we have no 
right to ask him to sign it. Indeed, when I come 
to think of it, I can hardly see how Brother Talbot 
himself can sign it." 

So the issue of the platform was ended, and our 
Baptist brother won the day. 

The heroism, self-sacrifice and devotion evinced 
by our Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, and Roman 
Catholic, and other brethren in the Far West were 
such as to win my reverent regard. And great is 
the debt which our new civilization owes to these 
pioneers of the Gospel. 



CHAPTER X 

TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

THOSE of my readers who are familiar with 
Owen Wister's Lin McLean and The Virginian 
w T ill have learned something of the true nature of 
the cow-boy, and that, despite his rough exterior, 
he is capable of loyal friendship and deeds of valor. 
It was at Fort Washakie that I first had the pleasure 
of meeting Mr. Wister, and I have always supposed 
that he was one of my hearers that night when I 
preached the sermon on the Prodigal Son, on which 
his hero, Lin McLean, makes such interesting com- 
ments. 

Be that as it may, it was on the edge of that 
same reservation that my friend, Mr. J. K. Moore, 
had the round-up at which a certain famous cow- 
boy figured conspicuously. This man had come 
from Texas; not voluntarily, ..but because the 
climate had become too warm for him. He had 
killed several men in a drinking row in that State. 
The Texan, for thus we shall designate him, had 
changed his name, so that his identity might be 
lost, and had apprised only his immediate friends at 
home of this fact. 

*37 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

During a long stage -ride towards the north, a 
drummer — a particular friend of mine — and two 
cow-punchers returning from Texas were among 
the passengers. The cow-boys happened to learn 
that my friend was on his way to a large supply 
store where they knew the Texan did his trad- 
ing. Feeling entire confidence in the drummer, 
they intrusted to his care a letter for the Texan 
which some dear one at home had given them 
rather than run the risk of sending it through the 
mail. 

On arriving at his destination my friend made in- 
quiries as to the whereabouts of the Texan, and 
learned that he had just come in from the round-up, 
and was on a spree, terrorizing all who came in con- 
tact with him. When the drummer ascertained the 
reputation of the man whom he was seeking he dis- 
creetly bided his time until the Texan had sobered 
off. He then handed him the letter. It was evi- 
dent that the Texan was overjoyed to receive the 
news from home, and, after eagerly devouring it, 
turned to my friend, and said: 

"Runner, how in the hell did you know where to 
find me?" 

The drummer replied that he did not know, but 
had been looking for him for several days; that he 
had received the most explicit instructions not to 
part with the letter until he could deliver it per- 
sonally ; and failing to find him he was to mail it to 
a certain address in San Antonio, Texas. 

138 



TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

"Well, stranger, you have made a friend forever 
of the very meanest cow-puncher in Wyoming. 
But it's worth standing 'twixt you and a bullet to 
get this letter." 

The two parted, neither, perhaps, thinking any 
more of the incident. 

A year passed, and a busy land-office had been 
established just across the Wyoming line in the 
State of Nebraska. The drummer was called there 
on business. As is always the case in such a motley 
frontier gathering, many unscrupulous characters 
had crowded in to prey upon the unsuspecting ten- 
derfoot. Men of this type always wore the out- 
ward symbols of the cow-puncher, and conspicuously 
displayed their .44 revolvers. It was the time of a 
great round-up, and the company store was full of 
cow-boys. In this gathering the drummer was sur- 
prised to encounter "the meanest cow-puncher in 
Wyoming," as the Texan had styled himself. A 
cordial greeting passed between them, and the 
Texan expressed much delight in seeing his bene- 
factor again, and then passed to the other end of 
the store. My friend was selling a line of hats, and 
happened to put on a white derby from his box of 
samples. Immediately one of these would-be "bad 
men" of the tin-horn variety, in a loud voice, ac- 
costed him. 

"Say, stranger, don't you know you are trans- 
gressing one of our unwritten laws? That hat of 
yours can't stand this climate unless we let a little 

1.39 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

air in it." At the same time he suggestively tapped 
the pistol at his belt. 

A crowd promptly gathered to see the fun. This 
was the opportunity the Texan had sought to prove 
his heartfelt gratitude to the man who had be- 
friended him. With vulture-like voracity he seized 
it. Advancing towards my friend he said: 

"Say, Mr. Runner, did you know that we have 
imported the best back-stepper in the States, and 
this is him? I know you want to see him dance." 
Drawing his .38 he ordered the officious bully to begin. 

The Texan was no stranger to him, and he lost no 
time in obeying. The frail structure of the store 
fairly shook, and a few canned goods dropped from 
the shelves, but the enjoyment was too evident on 
all sides to allow the sport to be discontinued. Ut- 
terly worn out, time and again the victim, with his 
two .44's dangling uselessly at his sides, gave his 
tormentor a doglike look of appeal; but no mercy 
was shown him, and he was ordered to "keep it 
up." At last my friend begged that the poor fellow 
be allowed to rest. 

"Only on one condition," said the Texan, ad- 
dressing the dancer. "You either leave these dig- 
gings to-night, or I'll make a ring out here in front 
of this store to-morrow morning, and let this man 
that you have insulted beat hell out of you." 

The drummer, unaccustomed to battle in the 
arena, was greatly relieved the next morning to 
find the bully had fled. 

140 



TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

That night the drummer was destined to witness 
a still more painful exhibition of the Texan's cool 
and relentless mastery of a dangerous situation. 
There was to be a cow-boy dance in which all the 
rough element of that frontier community was ex- 
pected to participate. The cow-boy insisted upon 
taking his new friend with him, assuring the drum- 
mer when he appeared reluctant that it would be a 
sight worth seeing, and that he would get him 
safely through. They went together. All pro- 
gressed smoothly until about midnight, when the 
dance was in full swing, and the Texan had dis- 
tinguished himself by his grace and abandon as a 
dancer. Suddenly an excited man rushed in to the 
hall, and, seizing the Texan by the arm, cried out: 

"Big Steve is on a drunk, and is coming. He's 
here already. You'll have to be quick." 

The Texan barely had time to throw aside the 
girl with whom he was dancing and to draw his six- 
shooter, when there was a commotion among the 
crowd at the other end of the hall, and there ap- 
peared at the doorway a dust -covered man and 
horse. It was Big Steve, the Texan's well-known 
enemy, whom he had vowed to shoot on sight. To 
the consternation of the dancers the big man rode 
his bronco straight through their midst to the centre 
of the hall, evidently seeking his foe. But, quick 
as a flash, before he had time to single out the ob- 
ject of his search, the Texan had taken careful aim 
and fired. For an instant a red spot appeared in 

141 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

Big Steve's forehead. He reeled in his saddle, and 
fell from his horse — dead. There was no further 
excitement. The dance broke up, the guests scat- 
tering to their homes. No effort was made to 
bring the Texan to justice. The deadly feud be- 
tween these two men had become notorious, and it 
was generally understood that one of them must 
die. The survivor in this mortal combat bade the 
drummer good-bye, as if nothing had happened, and 
before morning dawned had ridden quietly out of 
the town. 

When next I heard of the Texan he was the 
trusted agent of the cattle-men who had organized 
to rid the country of the thieves with which Wyo- 
ming was so grievously afflicted. The cow-puncher's 
wide acquaintance among men of his own class, the 
respectful awe with which he was regarded by 
them, his rare knowledge of human nature, and his 
unswerving loyalty to the righteous cause which he 
represented, made his services indispensable as a 
leader in that memorable crisis of the cattle in- 
dustry of the State. 

Such was the type of man who won the admira- 
tion and respect of a people who worshipped per- 
sonal loyalty and physical courage. And, indeed, 
there was in the man's soul a genuine spark of true 
nobility. In his dealings with his friends he reached 
a higher standard of honor than is common among 
men, and he was never known to break his word. 

Another type encountered everywhere in the 

142 



TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

West at that time and made familiar to the reading 
public by many works of fiction dealing with 
frontier life was the professional gambler. Again 
and again, in the prosecution of my work, I was 
thrown into relations more or less close with these 
men. I cannot recall one instance where those who 
followed this vocation pretended to defend their 
manner of life. On the contrary, they would ad- 
mit they were heartily ashamed of it, usually alleg- 
ing that they had been driven to this means of 
livelihood through force of circumstances, and as- 
suring me that they proposed to abandon it at the 
first opportunity. But the life possessed a strange 
fascination for its devotees, and I have known only 
a few instances where they have carried out their 
purpose of amendment. There seems to be a sort 
of excitement connected with the element of un- 
certainty and chance from which it is next to im- 
possible for the professional gambler to break 
away. It is the one vice which seems wellnigh 
hopeless, and against which I always found it diffi- 
cult to make any headway. 

Among the boys who attended my school in Mis- 
souri was the son of a minister of another religious 
body, a most devout and excellent man. This boy 
was his only child, and the mother had died when 
he was very young. As a result, the lad's early 
training devolved largely upon others, especially as 
the pastoral duties of his father kept him almost 
constantly from home. When placed in my school 

143 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the buy seemed to be of a dreamy and unpractical 
turn of mind, not given to study but fond of read- 
ing stories of adventure. I would frequently find 
him absorbed in some cheap, sensational novel of a 
blood-curdling nature, and his appetite for that sort 
of literature was insatiable. At the same time he 
had an affectionate nature, and one could not but 
be attracted to him. After leaving school his 
father found some employment for him, but he 
evinced no aptitude for business, and became rest- 
less and discontented. 

One day his father came to see me in great dis- 
tress to inform me that his son had run away from 
home during his absence, and had not been heard 
of for nearly a month. 

A few years later I was elected Bishop of Wyo- 
ming and Idaho, and as I was about to leave for the 
West the broken-hearted father again paid me a 
visit. His grief over the disappearance of his child 
was all the more acute because of his suspense as to 
his whereabouts. He said he had come to see me 
because he felt persuaded that his son had gone to 
the Far West; that the boy had often expressed to 
him his purpose of making that country his home 
as soon as he reached his majority; that he was 
constantly talking about Buffalo Bill and other 
Western heroes; that he had found in his room no 
other books but romances of miners, cow-boys, 
gamblers, and stage-robbers. He begged me, there- 
fore, to bear his son in mind, and said he felt that, in 

144 



TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

God's providence, I should surely be the means of 
finding and saving him. It was in vain that I re- 
minded him what a vast and almost unlimited area 
the West comprised, and how unlikely it was that 
in my journeying through such a thinly populated 
district as Wyoming and Idaho I should come 
across his boy. But so strongly was he convinced 
that I should surely find him that his attitude 
made a deep impression on my mind. 

After I had entered upon my Western work I re- 
ceived frequent letters from the minister, imploring 
me not to forget his request, and assuring me that 
he was making the recovery of his wandering boy 
the subject of earnest prayer day by day. Of 
course, under these circumstances the matter was 
frequently upon my mind, but I had not the slight- 
est hope of ever meeting the youth, nor did I share 
the father's opinion as to the certainty of his having 
gone West. 

Eight or ten years must have passed when, one 
night, I found myself on a train bound for Boise 
City in Idaho. The hour was past midnight, and I 
could not reach my destination until early the next 
morning. Only a few men were in the coach, and 
as I took my seat I observed just opposite me a 
young man about thirty years of age. Something 
about his appearance attracted my attention. He 
was evidently a sporting man, as his dress, his large 
black mustache and general bearing clearly indi- 
cated. Tired as I was, I could not help looking at 

i45 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

him; for there seemed something strangely familiar 
in his face; but I found the effort to recall where I 
had seen him before entirely futile. It was also 
evident that he was interested in my presence, and 
was rather critically surveying me. Just as I was 
about to stretch myself out on the seat for a little 
sleep he came across the aisle and addressed me. 

"Are you not the Bishop?" he asked. 

"Yes," I replied, "and your face recalls some one 
whom I have known." 

He smiled, and I recognized him as my former 
pupil, and called his name. 

"You are right," he said, "only I am not known 
by that name any longer. My name here is Henry 
D. Waters. I knew you were out in this Western 
country," he continued, "and I have been anxious 
to look you up; but the fact is I have been rather 
afraid to meet you. I knew you would feel it your 
duty to write my father that you had found me, 
and then I felt sure you would ask me what I was 
doing, and when you learned my business you 
would be ashamed of me." 

As I realized that, after all these years, I had 
actually come face to face with my young friend, I 
was profoundly impressed with the significance of 
the occasion, and deeply anxious to learn all that 
he would reveal of himself. I gradually drew him 
out, and finally he frankly told me that he was a 
professional gambler. He had recently been run- 
ning a faro-bank. 

146 



TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

"Did you ever see one, Bishop?" he asked. "If 
you will step across here I would like to show it to 
you, and also let you see some of my other deals. I 
have one of the best outfits in the Rockies. I 
think some of my games will interest you." 

It was a novel situation in which I found myself, 
and I was not a little amazed at the cool noncha- 
lance with which he proceeded to display his para- 
phernalia. In his manner there was not the slight- 
est suggestion of compunction of conscience. 

" Now, first of all," he remarked, " to show you that 
I am not in this business for my health, look at this." 

As he spoke he reached down and produced an 
ornamental hand-bag, and took out of it a buck- 
skin wallet which must have contained a quart of 
gold coins in five, ten, and twenty - dollar gold- 
pieces. As I was examining it I also noticed in 
the hand-bag a revolver. He pointed out the 
superb workmanship of this weapon, and said: 

"Of course, I always carry another gun in my 
hip-pocket." 

Then reaching up, he brought down from the 
rack a gilt-mounted and highly polished wooden 
box which contained "two or three secrets of the 
trade," as he called them. I can only recall dis- 
tinctly now the "faro-bank lay-out" upon whose 
merits he discoursed for some time. As he ex- 
plained the working of this device I was painfully 
impressed with the feeling that it was an ill-dis- 
guised swindle. I ventured to say to him: 

i47 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Is this a fair and square deal?" 

He smiled and replied: 

"Well, of course, the fellow who runs the bank 
has a big advantage in the end." 

Referring again to the bag of gold, he said: 

"This is all mine, Bishop, and I am on my way 
to Boise to add to my pile. You know the legislat- 
ure is now in session up there, and there is always 
plenty of money at this time, and I am expecting 
quite a ' rake-in." ' 

He seemed to be afraid that I should attempt to 
lecture him, and I thought I could see on his part a 
plan to kill time by monopolizing the conversation 
so as to forestall me. After he had quite finished 
telling me about some of his "big hauls," and ex- 
plaining to me the several gambling devices which 
he had with him, he suddenly turned to me and 
said: 

"Now I see you want to talk to me. If you are 
going to advise me to give up this business, I'll just 
say I've already made up my mind to do so. I 
have had enough of it. It is a dog's life. It keeps 
a man on the strain day and night, and I don't 
wonder that so many gamblers lose their minds. 
Then it throws a man into the meanest and most 
unprincipled crowd of rascals that walk the earth. 
The only thing that has kept me going all these 
years is the fact that I don't touch a drop, and so 
keep cool. I have been at times mighty lucky, and 
then again I lose every red. Just now, as you see," 

148 



TWO FAMILIAR TYPES 

looking at his wallet, " I am well heeled. But after 
this session of the legislature is over I am going to 
swear off for good." 

I thought he had put forth a rather clever argu- 
ment against the evils of a life of gambling, and 
felt that he had decidedly anticipated me. I am 
not prepared to assert that my young friend was 
deliberately trying to deceive me as to his future 
course. Indeed, I am rather disposed to believe 
that at that time he really meant to abandon a life 
which, in those better moments that come to all 
men, he found so very unsatisfactory. All through 
the night I talked with him, and tried to make him 
realize the inevitable end of a career such as he had 
espoused. I dwelt upon the pain and humiliation 
the knowledge of it would give his father; told him 
of the long and anxious years of prayer and solici- 
tude through which the old man had passed on his 
account ; and pleaded with him to free himself from 
the debasing associations of his environment be- 
fore it was too late. He stoutly reaffirmed his good 
resolution of amendment, expressing much affec- 
tion for his father, and begged me not to inform 
"the governor" as to his manner of life; he also 
promised to write him a good letter, and to keep in 
touch with him henceforth. But, as through years 
of sad experience with men of his type I had been 
made familiar with the terrible fascination of the 
gambling habit, I confess I had but little hope of 
the successful outcome of our interview. As a mat- 

149 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

ter of fact, he did, for a little while, embark in the 
real-estate business, married an estimable young 
woman, and settled down. But he soon got tired 
of a life which seemed to him so prosaic, and went 
back to the more congenial atmosphere of his old 
profession. It was at least a great comfort to the 
aged parent to hear from me that I had found his 
boy, and that he was looking so well. One or two 
letters actually passed between them. Subsequently, 
all correspondence ceased, and the letters sent by 
his father were unclaimed and returned. His habit 
of assuming different names as the fancy struck 
him, and thus hiding his identity, made it next to 
impossible to trace him. In a recent letter from 
the father, I learn that he has no idea of his son's 
present whereabouts. No tidings have come from 
him for years. But the old man's loving solicitude 
and heart-felt anxiety have never ceased. One can 
only hope that the object of such tender affection 
and so many prayers may even yet "come to him- 
self" and cheer the declining years of a father so 
steadfast in his devotion. The story is typical of a 
certain class of young men who have not the moral 
stamina to resist the influences of an environment 
which in a new country is very seductive. 



CHAPTER XI 

HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

THERE were several military garrisons dis- 
tributed throughout Wyoming and Idaho when 
I was sent there as bishop. In Wyoming were 
Forts Russell, McKinney, Laramie, and Washakie, 
while at Rock Springs the government maintained 
a small troop in order to protect the property of 
the Union Pacific Railroad and preserve peace in 
the mines. In Idaho were Fort Sherman and 
Boise Barracks. Once a year, as in the course of 
my visitations I came near these military posts, it 
was my custom to hold service for the soldiers. 
Some of the most valued friendships I had the 
privilege of making in the West were formed during 
those annual visits. At Fort Sherman I met Gen- 
eral Carlin, and Captains Price, Coates, Bubb, and 
Thompson; while at various posts in Wyoming I 
knew Colonels Burt, Coolidge, Freeman, and other 
officers under their command. Of these worthy 
representatives of our army, some have since re- 
turned and others have been promoted to higher 
rank. The cordial welcome and gracious hospi- 
tality uniformly extended to me by the officers and 

151 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

their families never failed to make my brief sojourn 
with them memorable ; and I shall always cherish a 
most grateful recollection of these bright spots in 
my missionary experiences. The glimpses I thus 
obtained of army life left on my mind a most favor- 
able impression of the dignified and soldierly bear- 
ing of the men commanding the United States 
forces in the West. I have since followed the 
careers of my army friends with the keenest in- 
terest, and have felt it an honor to have been 
thrown into such close relations with them. 

Among the prominent laymen whom it was al- 
ways a pleasure to meet in my busy life as a bishop 
were Senators Carey, Warren, and Clark of Wyo- 
ming, and our distinguished representative, Congress- 
man Mondell. In Idaho were Senators Shoup, 
Dubois, and Heyburn. Of these latter Senator 
Shoup has recently passed away. He was, perhaps, 
the best-beloved man in Idaho, quite apart from 
his political affiliations. Indeed, he was one of 
nature's noblemen, and I cherished for him the 
warmest affection. He was a native of Pennsyl- 
vania, served through the Civil War with distinc- 
tion, and afterwards had a most thrilling experi- 
ence in Indian wars in Colorado and elsewhere. He 
was absolutely without fear, and under his coura- 
geous leadership as colonel the warlike tribes that 
had terrorized the frontier were speedily brought 
under the strong arm of the government. He was 
generous to a fault, modest and unaffected, of 

152 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

transparent integrity of character, and instinc- 
tively won the confidence of men. He was always 
ready to respond with generous liberality to every 
good cause. 

The mention of Senator Shoup's venerated name 
leads me to state that the conditions of frontier life 
often developed a high type of manhood, quite un- 
usual elsewhere. Frequently these men were not 
connected with any church, a fact which may be 
explained by the absence of organized Christianity 
during the earlier years of their residence there ; but 
they were in fullest sympathy with the principles of 
righteousness for which the church stands, and 
could always be relied upon to use their influence in 
behalf of decency and morality. They were the 
warm personal friends of the clergy in general, and 
a bishop felt the stronger for their outspoken 
loyalty and support. Their wives and families 
were, for the most part, members of my flock, and 
I always thought of the men themselves as an im- 
portant part of my diocesan family. 

In the Wood River country of Idaho there lived 
a most lovable man of whom I became very fond. 
His wife was a cultured gentlewoman, devoted to 
her husband, and enthusiastically interested in the 
church. I was frequently entertained at their 
house. It was a cause of great concern to her that 
her noble husband had never been confirmed. 
There was one weakness that held him back. The 
Colonel would occasionally give way to the con- 

i53 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

vivial habits so common in the West, and his sprees 
would continue for some days. These periodical 
lapses greatly mortified his wife. When they were 
over the colonel was duly penitent, and would 
brace up bravely, and sometimes be able to remain 
firm for several months. But the consciousness of 
this tendency made him hesitate to take a position 
as a member of the church, lest in some evil hour 
he might bring contempt upon a cause for which at 
heart he cherished the profoundest respect. Just 
before leaving Idaho to become Bishop of Central 
Pennsylvania, I was making my last visitation to 
the little parish where the Colonel lived. They 
again claimed me as their guest, and, on my arrival, 
his wife had much to say about her husband's rela- 
tion to the church. She dwelt upon the long 
friendship that had subsisted between himself and 
me, and was good enough to say that he was deeply 
grieved at the thought of my leaving Idaho; that 
he was fond of me, and that I had more influence 
with him than any one else; that she felt sure he 
was thinking seriously of being confirmed, for she 
had talked with him about it; that she believed, if 
I would present the matter to him, he would de- 
cide to act; that in order to give me a good oppor- 
tunity to do so, she had arranged for me to be 
alone with him after dinner. When we were to- 
gether I followed out the suggestions of his good 
wife, and told him that I believed the grace and 
spiritual strength which confirmation was intended 

i54 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

to convey would enable him to lead a consistent 
life; that hitherto he had made the struggle alone, 
but that the church was established on earth in 
order to help men to overcome temptation and to 
give them a support not to be found elsewhere. 
My argument seemed to impress him. He listened 
with evident interest and every mark of respectful 
consideration. When I had finished he said he sup- 
posed I was right, and that he had often thought of 
taking the step to which I urged him, but he con- 
tinued : 

"I should like to ask you a few questions, if you 
do not object." 

" I shall be only too glad to answer them if I can, 
Colonel. Please proceed." 

"Well, Bishop, do you think my wife is a good 
woman?" 

"One of the best I have ever known." 

"Do you think she is a Christian?" 

"If she is not, I should doubt whether any of us 
could be so considered." 

"Well, now, do you think she will make it?" 

"How is that, Colonel?" I asked. 

"Do you think my wife will get in?" 

Still determined not to appear to divine his 
meaning, I said: "Excuse me, Colonel, but please 
explain." 

"I simply mean this, Bishop: Do you think that 
St. Peter will let the old lady pass through the 
pearly gates?" 

i55 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"I have not a doubt of it, Colonel." 

"Then you think that you can guarantee that 
she will get in?" 

" So far as my opinion is worth anything, I can- 
not for a moment question it." 

"Well, then, if that is so, I do not think I shall 
be confirmed. In fact, I do not see that I need to 
be. You see, Bishop, it is just this way: If the old 
lady gets in, and they lock the door against the old 
man, she will simply raise hell until she gets me let 
in. And she's sure to succeed." 

It was in vain that I tried to convince him of the 
futility of such an argument. His faith in his 
wife's influence was too strong to be shaken by 
anything I could allege. I have never seen so firm 
a believer in the doctrine of the " Intercession of the 
Saints." Ah, well, they have both gone hence, 
dear, good souls! And it is not for us to presume 
to place any limitations on the boundless mercy of 
Him who knoweth so well whereof we are made. 

One evening, on reaching a mining-camp, I was 
in the wash-room preparing for dinner after a dusty 
ride in the stage-coach. In the adjoining hotel 
office I overheard this conversation. 

"Are you going to hear the Bishop talk this 
evening?" 

"Yes," was the reply, "I thought I would go. 
They say there's quite a number goin' to join the 
church." 

" Is that so? Dp you know who they be?'' 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

"No, I 'ain't heered who they all be, only they 
tell me Jake Simpson's got religion, and he's among 
them." 

"You don't say! Well, that beats the Dutch. 
If he's got religion, I'll bet ten to one he's got it in 
his wife's name." 

I did not fully comprehend the significance of this 
comment until later, when I learned that Jake did 
not enjoy the best reputation as a man of business 
integrity, and whenever his creditors, who were 
numerous, tried to collect their bills they found 
that he had put everything in his wife's name. 
Evidently his friends thought that Jake would be 
likely to carry the same tactics into his religious 
practice. 

It was during this visit that a saloon-keeper called 
on me at my hotel. When I came down-stairs he 
said : 

"Bishop, we have three kids for you to brand, 
and the old woman asked me to come and see if 
you could not do it some time to-morrow. Bishop 
Tuttle fixed up all the rest on 'em when he was here 
the last time." 

Of course, I was glad to have the privilege of 
baptizing the dear little children, and an hour was 
agreed upon. 

"Well, now, Bishop, the old woman would like to 
have a little spread and celebrate the occasion, if 
you don't object. You see, we are all old-country 
folks." 

*57 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

It would surprise some of my readers to have 
seen how genteel a company gathered on that occa- 
sion at this saloon-keeper's house. The tastefully 
dressed men and women, the modest and reverent 
behavior of all during the service, the delicious re- 
freshments served in perfect form — for all this I was 
hardly prepared myself. Then the toasts proposed 
for the health of the newly baptized little Christians 
completed a function in every way seemly and ap- 
propriate. 

On this occasion I met a Mrs. Thompson, who 
told me an amusing incident in connection with 
Bishop Tuttle, my predecessor. This good woman 
was a Missourian, like myself, and very proud of 
her native State. She was always quick to resent 
the slightest imputation against it. The Bishop 
had been elected to Missouri, and was making his 
last round of visitations before leaving Idaho to 
take up his new work. He was calling on the 
Thompson family. With a good deal of emotion he 
said: 

"Yes, my dear friends, in God's providence I 
have been elected Bishop of Missouri. I have 
thought of it much, and prayed over it faithfully, 
and it seems to be my duty to accept this call. 
And so, in a few weeks, I am to say good-bye to 
dear Idaho, and leave for Missouri. And at length," 
he added, sadly, " I must fold my hands in death, 
and be buried in old Missouri." 

"Oh, Bishop, don't feel so badly about it," said 

158 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

Mrs. Thompson. "Why, we have the most beauti- 
ful cemetery in St. Louis you ever saw." 

I used to hear many amusing stories told at the 
expense of my native State. It was said that the 
brigade of General Sterling Price, of the Confederate 
army, when disbanded, came almost in a body to 
Idaho and Montana. Of course, they continued to 
vote the Democratic ticket, and were ever loyal to 
the memory of the "lost cause." There were Mis- 
sourians and Missourians, and some of them were 
pretty tough citizens, and Pike County became 
somewhat notorious. 

One evening four men were seated at a table in a 
restaurant. One of them said: 

"Well, boys, here are four of us at this table, and 
I'll bet we are each one from a different State. 
It does beat all how in this new country we come 
from all over the Union. Now let's see. Neighbor, 
what's your State?" 

"Illinois," was the reply. 

"And yours?" pointing to the next man. 

"Arkansas." 

"And yours?" 

"Wisconsin." 

"There, what did I tell you? Just as I said, here 
are four men and four States." 

"But," said one, "my friend, now you have 
found out what States we come from, but you have 
not told us your own State." 

"That's none of your darned business." 
1 59 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Well, you needn't get mad about it. You 
started the racket. Are you ashamed of your 
State?" 

Quick as a flash the man ripped out his six- 
shooter, and said: 

"Well, if you must know, I'm a Missourian. 
Now, darn you, don't laugh." 

When I first went out to Idaho there were few 
church buildings in the mining - camps. Indeed, 
unless there was a prospect of the camp proving 
more or less permanent, it was not wise to erect a 
church to be deserted in a year or two when the 
mine should be worked out. On the occasion of 
the bishop's annual visitation, as a consequence, 
services were usually held in a hall, often known as 
the "dance-hall," and used for political meetings, 
lectures, theatricals or whatever object served to 
call the people together. This dance-hall was liter- 
ally the only place available for public gatherings. 

At a certain mining - camp I had appointed an 
evening for service well in advance of my coming, 
so that the people, many of whom had to come 
from a distance, might be duly apprised of the visi- 
tation. Nearly every summer there was a theatrical 
troupe, known as "The Billy and Eva McKinley 
Show," that made the rounds of the mining-camps. 
They varied their programme each year, and were 
always very popular, succeeding in attracting the 
whole community to their performance. When 
Billy and Eva reached this particular camp they 

1 60 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

found that I had already engaged the hall for the 
evening. They had an appointment at another 
camp for the next night, and I was due at still an- 
other. Hence it was not at all convenient for 
either of us to give way. It was a blow to Billy 
that I had pre-empted the evening and the hall; 
but he was fertile in resources, and promptly came 
to see me. 

"Well, Bishop," he said, " I have come to see you. 
This is the first time I ever run up against a bishop, 
and I find you've got the cinch on me. This is one 
of my very best towns, and I can't afford to miss 
it, and I reckon you're in the same box. Now, 
can't we make some kind of a deal?" 

I replied that it would give me pleasure to ac- 
commodate him in any way in my power. 

"Well, now," he said, "what time does your 
show begin?" 

"At eight o'clock," I answered. 

"And how long does your show last?" 

"I shall see to it," I assured him, "that it does 
not last more than an hour. You shall have the 
hall by nine o'clock. In fact, it will be easy to send 
around word that my service will begin at seven- 
thirty, so that I can be through by eight -thirty, and 
I shall see that this is done. Moreover, I'll tell the 
people when they assemble that your entertainment 
will follow immediately after the service." 

"Bishop, will you do that?" 

"Certainly I will. I wish the people all to have 
161 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the pleasure of attending your performance. I 
know you present a clean and entirely praiseworthy 
play, and my friends here have so few opportunities 
of this kind that I am in hearty sympathy with you. 
Indeed, I shall be there myself." 

"Well, if that ain't treating us stage -people 
white, my name ain't Billy McKinley. You bet, 
I'll fetch all my troupe to your show, and we'll be 
mighty proud to be there, too." 

At the hour of divine service the dance-hall was 
packed, the theatrical troupe had the front seats, 
and everybody was happy. In a surprisingly short 
time after the service the play was put on, and 
proved a delightful little comedy, with a touching 
finale, the moral effect of which could not have been 
otherwise than up-lifting. In meeting the various 
members of the theatrical party afterwards, I found 
several of them communicants of the church. 

There were not many colored people in that new 
country, but I felt a particular interest in the scat- 
tered few I found there, because the fourteen years 
of my work as a clergyman in, Missouri had been 
passed in the midst of a large population of the 
negro race. Indeed, one of the most touching in- 
cidents connected with leaving my old home for 
Wyoming and Idaho was associated with an old 
colored man who had been a faithful servant in my 
family for many years. 

Uncle Billy was the janitor of my boys' school, 
and was anxious to show me some special mark of 

162 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

his esteem before I left. One Sunday morning he 
came to see me, and said: 

"Professor, our colored biship is gwine to preach 
in our church to-night. He has came clar from 
Washington City, and the bredderin would be 
mighty proud if you would come over and set wid 
him on the pull-pit." 

"Thank you, Uncle Billy," I replied. "But un- 
fortunately I have an evening service of my own in 
St. James's at the same hour. Otherwise I should 
be glad to come." 

"Oh, I knowed dat, Professor; but you see de 
colored folks don't have dere meetin' till about half- 
past eight, case many of our wimmen folks is work- 
in' out and can't git dar no sooner. You'll be all 
froo your meetin' 'fore ours takes up." 

"Is that so?" I answered. "Then, Uncle Billy, 
you may depend on me. I shall be glad to come 
over and hear and meet your bishop." 

As soon as my evening service was finished I 
went to the African Methodist Church. As I drew 
near I saw a large number of the colored brethren 
standing at the door unable to get in. Uncle Billy 
was watching for me, and, as I approached, took 
my arm, and led me through the crowded doorway 
into the building. The aisles were filled with people 
standing. It was a great occasion to have a colored 
bishop come from Washington, and all wished to 
hear him. It was yet a quarter of an hour before 
the appointed time for service. With difficulty we 

163 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

made our way up the middle aisle. When near the 
platform I noticed that the bishop was kneeling at 
the conventional sofa, his back to the congregation, 
engaged in silent prayer. I paused, and said: 

" Uncle Billy, we will wait here until the bishop 
is through. Let us not disturb his devotions." 

u Never mind, Professor. De biship kin pray 
any time; but he don't git a chance to meet de 
professor ebery day." 

With that remark he fairly dragged me to the 
edge of the platform. He then said, in a voice quite 
audible throughout the church: 

"Biship!" 

At first the bishop appeared to pay no attention 
to the interruption. But Uncle Billy again called 
to him in a loud voice. The bishop looked over his 
shoulder at us, still kneeling. 

"Please come dis way jest a minute," said Uncle 
Billy. 

With a graciousness altogether admirable the ven- 
erable divine approached us. 

"Biship, dis am de professor," said the old man. 

We greeted each other, and I was invited to take 
a seat by his side on the sofa. I ventured to apolo- 
gize to the bishop for Uncle Billy, telling him that 
I could not control the situation. 

The bishop replied: 

"Oh, it doesn't matter. You see I am staying 
at Brother Jones's house, and he means no harm." 

The service proceeded, and I was asked to read a 

164 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

lesson and offer a prayer. After the scholarly and 
excellent sermon the collection was taken up. 
Then caine a rousing hymn sung as only our colored 
brethren, when spiritually aroused, can sing. The 
bishop rose and said: 

"Let us kneel while Brother Jones leads us in 
prayer." 

This was Uncle Billy's supreme opportunity. 
Probably in recognition that he was entertaining 
the distinguished preacher, and ministering to his 
physical wants, it had been arranged that my old 
servant should take this particular part. Uncle 
Billy knelt on one knee so that he could keep time 
with his toe and hands. He prayed with great 
fervor and unction. He thanked the good Lord 
that he had sent the bishop to "deliver dat power- 
ful sarmint." He prayed that it might go straight 
to the hearts of all "de sinners and bring 'em to de 
Saviour." He reminded the Lord that "de pro- 
fessor come ober from de college to be wid us at 
our meet in'." He said: 

"You know, Lord, de professor is tryin' to bring 
up dem young men in Dy fear and admonishun. 
We pray Dee to help de professor in his great work 
of Christian eddication. May de young men under 
his keer grow up as pillars in de temple of de Lord. 
Yes, good Lord, be wid him as he goes out to dat 
fur Western land to preach de Gospel to ebery 
creecher. Be wid him in all his ways, in his gwine'- 
in and comin'-out. Finally, O Lord, we pray Dee 

165 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

to send down on de professor Dy sanctum sanc- 
torum." 

A hearty amen from the people showed how they 
appreciated my old friend's effort. 

Early the next morning when Uncle Billy came 
into my room to make the fire, I felt an irrepressi- 
ble desire to ascertain just what he meant by his 
"sanctum sanctorum." I said: 

"Uncle Billy, I wish to thank you for inviting 
me over to hear your bishop. He is an able and 
eloquent preacher, and I was glad to meet him. 
And then I was greatly touched by your kind 
thought in remembering me and my boys. I ap- 
preciate your interest in my anxious work, and need 
the prayers of all good men. But," I added, as tact- 
fully as possible, "Uncle Billy, are you aware that 
in closing your prayer you made use of a very un- 
usual and striking theological expression? Do you 
remember that you asked the good Lord to send 
down on me his 'sanctum sanctorum'?" 

"Oh yes, professor. Dat I do remembers it. 
The fac' is I had dat all fixed up fur you before- 
hand." 

"Well, now, Uncle Billy, may I ask just what 
you mean by the 'sanctum sanctorum'?" 

"Well, now, professor, you ax me a pretty hard 
question. I don't know's I kin 'zactly 'splain to 
you jest what I does mean by dat. But de Lord 
and me understands each other. He knows jest 
what I means. I means dat I want de good Lord 

1 66 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

to send down on you jest de very best He's got on 
hand." 

So interpreted I felt that the petition was all 
that could be desired by any one. 

When I reached the Union Pacific I met a colored 
porter named Shadrach. He has recently passed 
away, after many years of faithful service to the 
Pullman Company. He was a great favorite with 
the travelling public, and as my official duties re- 
quired me to be on the road very frequently, we be- 
came excellent friends. One strong bond of sym- 
pathy between us was the fact that his wife was an 
earnest member of my church, though Shad him- 
self continued to be a Baptist. I felt that I owed 
much of the kindness he was ever wont to show me 
to her influence. During the latter years of her life 
his wife was frequently ill, and one could see that 
he was greatly troubled about her condition. She 
was afflicted with epilepsy, and was often seized 
with convulsions. I used to comfort the poor fel- 
low so far as I was able. One day when I entered 
his car I could see from his manner that he was 
much distressed. As soon as his duties permitted 
he asked me to follow him into the smoker, where 
we could be alone. He broke down completely, 
and, sobbing, told me his wife was dead. 

"Bishop, it was them operatic fits what done it. 
The doctor told me some time ago that if she had 
any more of them operatic attacks she would die." 

Later, when I left to take charge of my Eastern 
167 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

diocese, Shad took care of us as far as Chicago, and 
there bade us good-bye with much genuine feeling. 
It happened that after spending a few months in 
central Pennsylvania I again returned West for the 
summer, that I might set in order certain matters 
in my own missionary field, and visit for the last 
time various parishes. Shad greeted my family 
and myself on the train. He knew I had finally 
taken up my abode in the East, and was much 
troubled and completely mystified by my reappear- 
ance. He had once or twice, through the com- 
plaints of disgruntled passengers, been laid off, and 
narrowly escaped being dismissed. His conduct 
towards me betrayed a certain sympathetic tender- 
ness. Not wishing to approach me on a matter so 
delicate, he sought out my wife, and said: 

"You know, Mrs. Talbot, we all think a heap of 
the bishop out here in this Western country. " 

" I am very glad to hear it, Shad," she replied. 

"Well, Mrs. Talbot, I thought the bishop had 
went to Pennsylvaney to be bishop." 

"So he did," she answered. 

Then knitting his eyebrows and looking much 
troubled, he came to the difficult and embarrassing 
question. 

"Mrs. Talbot has the bishop lost his job?" 

He was greatly relieved when he learned the true 
situation. 

In a new country such as the territories of Wyo- 
ming and Idaho at that time, various nationalities 

168 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

were represented. Coming fresh from Norway, 
Sweden, or Italy, these foreigners had but a limited 
knowledge of our language, and acquired it gradu- 
ally from actual contact with the people. It is not 
strange, therefore, that the first words they learned 
were often slang expressions most frequently upon 
the lips of the uneducated classes with whom they 
were thrown in contact. 

I remember a Swedish mother who was greatly 
afflicted by the sudden death from diphtheria of 
two beautiful children. She and her husband had 
been brought up very devoutly in their native 
country, and regarded the baptism of their children 
as a most sacred obligation. Their two youngest 
children had not been baptized, simply because 
their lot had been cast upon a lonely ranch far dis- 
tant from any missionary station, and they had 
never had an opportunity of meeting a minister. 
Learning that I was to make a visitation at the 
nearest railroad station twenty miles distant from 
their home, they eagerly availed themselves of the 
chance to present their little ones for the holy rite. 
The entire family came in a wagon, and all were 
present at the service. When I learned of their re- 
cent bereavement, just before the service, I ventured 
to express my sympathy to the poor, heart-broken 
mother, and to utter such words of consolation as 
seemed fitting. In reply to every remark I made 
the poor woman, clad in deep mourning, and look- 
ing most distressed, would say : " You bet. You bet. " 

169 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"And now," said I, "you have brought these 
dear children here to be baptized." 

"You bet, you bet," she answered. 

"I hope they may be spared to you, and may 
prove a great comfort and blessing." 

"You bet, you bet," she replied. 

Even the Indians, when they attempted to speak 
English, were very apt to bring in some slang expres- 
sion which they innocently thought appropriate and 
fitting. On one occasion when old Black Coal, chief 
of the Arapahoes, came to call upon me, he said: 

"Me damned glad to see Heap Sleeve man, the 
bishop." 

But one of the most amusing illustrations of this 
tendency was furnished by an Italian. I had held 
service and preached the night before in our new 
church at Cambria, Wyoming, where a large num- 
ber of Italians were employed in the coal-mines. 
Early the next morning I took the train for New 
Castle, a few miles down the cafion. Soon after I 
took my seat a young Italian entered. He had 
evidently been in our country but a short time, and 
his only associates had probably been miners, 
whose language was not always most chaste. He 
quite surprised me when he recognized me and said : 

" Ah, you ze cardinal. I hear you talk last night. 
Damn pretty church! Damn big crowd! Damn 
good talk!" 

I nearly always found in every chance acquaint- 
ance on stage-coach or buck-board some one who 

170 



HERE AND THERE AMONG MY FLOCK 

interested me. Being compelled to ride nearly 
thirty miles in a stage with an "old-timer" who 
had been engaged in mining in Idaho for many 
years, I found him, after he had sobered off, a most 
entertaining companion. Some of his reminis- 
cences were rich and racy. He had been the victim 
of many hair-breadth escapes, had been engaged in 
several shooting affairs, and, as I afterwards also 
learned from others, had killed in self-defence a 
number of men. His name would be familiar to 
the old-time Idaho people were I to mention it. I 
was not a little impressed, when we reached the end 
of our journey and bade each other farewell, to hear 
him say : 

"Bishop, we fellows are pretty rough. We have 
seen some hard times out here in the mountains, 
and we have not had much chance to go to church. 
But deep down in our hearts we mean all right. 
Most of us have had a good mother, and we have 
never forgotten what she tried to teach us. I have 
still a little Bible I brought from home, and no 
money could buy it. And, Bishop, let me tell you 
the truth before God, I never get in that bucket 
to go down in the mine without just saying that 
little prayer she used to hear me say, ' Now I lay me 
down to sleep.' If a man will only do what is right 
the Lord is not going to be very hard on him when 
he passes in his checks." 



CHAPTER XII 

A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

IT had long been a cherished hope that I might 
spend at least a month in quest of deer, elk, and 
bear. From the stage-coach and trails over the 
mountains I had occasionally caught glimpses of 
fine specimens of big game, and I knew of several 
localities where they could with a little effort be 
found. 

The Hon. Edward Ivinson, of Laramie, one of my 
good laymen, and a warm personal friend, had again 
and again implored me to spend the month of Sep- 
tember in the woods as his guest. At last my op- 
portunity came, and the party was made up. My 
brother, the Rev. Robert Talbot, of Kansas City, 
was invited to join us, making in all a company of 
six, besides the guide, packers, and men to look 
after the camp. Nothing that could minister to 
our comfort and convenience was omitted by our 
generous host. He was an experienced hunter, and 
knew exactly what was needed on such an outing. 
An abundance of choice groceries, canned goods, 
and tobacco was laid in, and, while we were all men 
of temperate habits, care was taken to be prepared 

172 



A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

for such an accident as a snake-bite or other emer- 
gency. To carry our necessary outfit to the foot- 
hills where we were to pack our horses and enter 
the forest, a good strong covered wagon was taken 
along. It was a ride of about a hundred and 
twenty-five miles from Laramie across the plains 
before we reached the mountains of Routt County, 
Colorado, our objective point. But as we were all 
well mounted on fast broncos, that meant only one 
night's camping on the way. The weather during 
the entire month was almost perfect. We started 
on the 30th of August so as to reach the hunt- 
ing-grounds in time to avail ourselves of the pro- 
visions of the game law, which set us free September 
1 st. Before we set out it was distinctly understood 
and agreed to between us that we should not divert 
our attention from the big game by any little side 
sports, such as shooting grouse or trout-fishing. My 
brother rather regretted this contract, as his im- 
agination had been set on fire by the accounts I had 
from time to time given him of the Rockies as the 
fisherman's paradise ; but as it was the earnest sug- 
gestion of our host we proposed to abide by it loy- 
ally, no matter how great the temptation. 

We broke camp early on the morning of August 
31st, for our famous guide, Jim Miller, was to meet 
us late that afternoon at a place agreed upon, and 
conduct us to a gulch where we were to remain a 
week or two. We were all delighted to meet Jim; 
for while some of us had never seen him, his repu- 

*73 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

tation was so well established that we felt a certain 
curiosity to encounter the hero of so many success- 
ful hunts. He was much in demand by hunting- 
parties, and in order to secure his services one had 
to make a contract with him at least a year in ad- 
vance. Like all experts, he came high, and could 
command his own price. While a very quiet and 
honest man, it was known that he was without fear, 
and in ridding the country of cattle and horse 
thieves he had slain a number of men. On several 
occasions he had fallen into the clutches of the law, 
and had narrowly escaped conviction at one time 
for murder in the first degree. But the jury had 
cleared him on the theory that the killing had been 
in self-defence. His chief glory was that he knew 
where the big game ranged, and especially was he 
familiar with the habitat of the grizzlies. 

In the particular mountain where we were to 
spend a month, it was currently reported that there 
was a famous old bruin who was the terror of the 
forest. Now and then he would make a descent on 
some ranch at the foot of the mountain and play 
havoc in one night with a herd of cattle. He was 
known by the name of "Old Mose," and tradition 
had it that on more than one occasion a hunter 
armed cap-h-pie had met him face to face and had 
fled in terror at his very appearance without firing 
a shot. Jim greatly aroused our enthusiasm for 
the fray by telling us he had recently seen what 
were undoubtedly Old Mose's footprints, and he 

i74 







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A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

thought it not unlikely we should succeed in getting 
a shot at him. 

The guide conducted us in a few hours to the 
secluded spot he had chosen for our camp. It 
would be impossible to imagine a wilder and in 
some respects a more beautiful situation. It was 
near the edge of a mountain-stream, and one could 
.ear distinctly the music of the rushing water as it 
iung itself over rocks and bowlders on its way 
down the mountain-side. An abundance of long 
grass furnished excellent feed for our horses, while 
on every hand fallen timber supplied material for 
our camp-fires. We all went to work with a hearty 
good-will to put the camp in order. Some of us 
helped to pitch the tents, others to carry logs and 
prepare for a big fire, for already the cool, crisp air 
of the mountains made us realize how important a 
part in the good cheer a rousing blaze would play. 
Meanwhile, our jovial cook, a colored man, began to 
get in order, his culinary department, and it was not 
long before the fragrant odors of bacon and corn- 
bread stimulated still more our appetites which the 
long ride over the mountain-trail had made keen 
enough. Who can describe the perfect relish of 
that first meal in the woods ? One could not fail to 
enjoy such a spread as was set before us, for not 
only was the food excellent, but the environment 
was so complete. 

Then we lighted our pipes around the camp-fire, 
and plied Jim with endless questions as to when he 

i75 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

thought we should meet Old Mose, and just where 
we should aim, and whether we should get any deer 
or elk on the morrow. Then came the big yarns 
which regaled our ears from our host down, until 
my tenderfoot brother from the effete East was 
wild with excitement. Long before our big camp- 
fire had died down, some of us began to crawl into 
our tents, for the order had gone forth that at 
break of day we must get our coffee and bacon and 
set out for game. We had no doubt at all from all 
we could hear that we should find deer and elk, but 
of course, our piece de resistance was the bear. 
Jim did not disguise from us his opinion that it 
might be a week or more before we could capture a 
grizzly. 

His plan of campaign was this: first of all he 
would kill an elk, or let our host, Mr. Ivinson, who 
was to accompany him, kill it. Then, having se- 
cured the quarters for meat and the head and horns 
for glory, they would let the carcass lie where it fell 
to attract the bear. In two or three days the bear 
would begin to realize that some meat was waiting 
for them, and the dead elk would be the rendezvous 
for the hunters. Meanwhile he reminded us that 
there were several inviting patches of wild cherries, 
of which the bear are very fond, and if we ap- 
proached these warily there was a prospect of get- 
ting a shot. Finally, failing in these two methods, 
there was left, as a last resort, the traps. Four of 
these were to be set in different directions remote 

176 




BISHOP TALBOT 
A photograph taken while on a hunting trip 



A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

from each other. Secured to the trunk of a tree 
about six feet from the ground, a chunk of elk meat 
was to be tied. At the foot of the tree the trap 
was to be set, and leaves and twigs so strewn over 
it that Mr. Bruin should never suspect its presence. 
Lest he might not find the fragrant morsel hanging 
just beyond his reach, it was arranged that pieces 
of elk-meat at the end of ropes tied to the horns of 
our saddles should be dragged circuitously through 
the woods, bringing up the trail in each case to the 
tree where the trap was set and the bait hung. 
Moreover, here and there on these trails a small piece 
of elk meat was to be dropped, so as to encourage 
Mr. Bruin in his nightly excursions. When some 
one suggested that trapping was hardly sportsman- 
like, Jim remarked: 

". But, Mr. I vinson, the bear are very scarce these 
days, and you say this is the bishop's hunt, and he 
must have a bear. Then let us take no chances." 

Early the next morning we started out to see 
what we could find. My brother's cup of joy was 
filled to overflowing by the great good luck of being 
the first to bring down a magnificent buck with fine 
antlers, which now adorn his study. The venison 
thus secured was a grateful change from bacon, and 
our cook knew just how to prepare it. True to 
his prophecy, that day Jim led Mr. I vinson into a 
herd of elk, and our host killed an enormous bull, 
whose horns measured five feet across, and whose 
colossal bulk furnished enough meat for both camp 

i77 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

and bear-traps for days to come. That night we 
were all very happy. Several of us had seen both 
deer and elk, and had had the satisfaction of at 
least trying to bring one down. Then our good 
host, who most deserved it, had laid low a great 
bull, and secured his head; and last, but not least, 
the tenderfoot parson had ceased to be a tender- 
foot, and won his spurs by dropping the first buck. 

While the elk meat was ripening we put in the 
next day hunting for big game. My brother and I 
surprised a large black bear in a choke-cherry patch, 
but he saw us first, and disappeared in the bushes. 
Though we could track him for some distance 
through the quaking-asps, we never overtook him. 
The exhilaration of the chase reminded us of the 
school-boy debate: " Resolved, that there is more 
pleasure in the anticipation than in the realiza- 
tion." But neither of us was quite ready to vote 
in the affirmative of that proposition. 

It was the custom of the hunting-party to divide 
into three groups of two each. Generally our host 
took Jim with him, and, as a result, brought down 
some game almost every day, and kept the camp 
supplied. It must be admitted that Mr. Ivinson 
was the best shot among us, and therefore his suc- 
cess was by no means entirely due to the presence 
of the guide, though occasionally Jim would be as- 
signed to some one else, and that lucky man was 
pretty sure to come home victorious. 

Near the close of the first week one of our party, 

178 



A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

Judge Gramm, killed a large black bear near the 
spot where my brother and I had seen and chased 
one. Probably it was the same bear. 

During the next week Mr. Ivinson had the good 
fortune to shoot a big cinnamon bear. Meanwhile, 
we were killing deer and elk in abundance. But as 
the game began to be more scarce and hard to find, 
we concluded to move and pitch camp a few miles 
farther in the forest. There again we set and 
bated our traps, which had thus far caught us 
nothing. We had only secured two bear, and felt 
determined to get more. After the traps were set 
we agreed that all of the four should be visited be- 
fore breakfast each morning. It happened that 
one day it fell to my lot to visit with Mr. Grow a 
trap set deep down in a thickly wooded canon. It 
was fully two and a half miles from the camp. As 
we drew near we heard a thunderous roar, the un- 
mistakable growl and muttering of a wild beast in- 
furiated. We knew we had caught a bear, and that 
he was maddened by his captivity. He had been 
caught by a hind foot as he was jumping for the elk- 
meat, and the trap was chained to a movable log. 
This was in order to prevent him from tearing his 
foot off and escaping. A dead pull was thus avoid- 
ed, and he could haul the log some distance until it 
caught on some obstruction, when by retracing his 
steps he could carry it in another direction. When 
we first caught sight of him he was quite a distance 
away and moving over a considerable space of 
13 179 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

ground. My companion warned me to be cautious 
and not get too near. It had been agreed that I 
should do the shooting, and the first shot proved 
sufficient. He was a very large, silver-tipped grizzly, 
and his skin, with several others, has been one of 
my trophies ever since. 

It is astonishing how rapidly time passes under 
the spell of such intoxicating sport. Before we 
realized it three weeks of our four had gone. We 
had been fairly successful, and had had a royal 
time. One day about noon my brother and I were 
seated on a bowlder in the midst of a beautiful 
stream eating our luncheon. We had just about 
finished, and were lighting our pipes, when at our 
feet we suddenly saw any number of fine mountain- 
trout. They did not seem to be afraid of us, and 
some of them were unusually large, measuring a foot 
or more. My brother, who had never caught a trout, 
was greatly excited. 

"Oh," said he, "what a shame we made that 
foolish contract not to catch any fish. What 
would I not give to land some of these speckled 
beauties!" 

Then it occurred to me that in an old pocket- 
book, which I always carried with me, I might find 
a hook. I hastily examined it, and lo! there were 
two hooks and one line, but no flies. But the 
banks of the stream were alive with grasshoppers, 
and it was not long before we had rigged up two 
willow poles. In less than an hour we had landed 

180 



A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

two long strings of as splendid specimens of trout 
as were ever caught. Thus far our consciences had 
not greatly disturbed our peace of mind. But 
when we had caught so many that it seemed posi- 
tively wrong to take out any more, my brother said: 

" Now what shall we do with them?" 

"Do with them!" I replied. "I am going to 
take them into camp and have a mess for supper." 

"Well," said my brother, "you are the bishop of 
this flock, and they cannot be very severe with you 
.for this one offence. But what will Mr. Ivinson 
say?" 

"My opinion is," I answered, "that Mr. Ivinson 
is just about as tired of wild meat as the rest of us. 
I'll risk all the consequences." 

I shall never forget the moment when we rode 
into camp, each of us holding up as heavy a string 
of trout as we could comfortably display. There 
was, of course, for the sake of consistency, a little 
protest and some surprise expressed by our host 
that his bishop should be the first to violate the 
agreement. But I soon secured my old friend's 
gracious absolution, and I observed that no one 
relished more than he the delicious fish we had for 
supper. 

Now comes a curious and interesting revelation. 
When once our companions had tasted trout, and 
realized that we were in a fisherman's paradise, 
nothing could restrain them, and whereas no one 
was supposed to have brought any fishing-tackle, 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the fact was soon made manifest that every mem- 
ber of the party, save the two unsophisticated 
parsons, had come with rod and line and full equip- 
ment for fishing! The next morning we let our 
guide rest, and the camp was turned into a fishing- 
party. Never in my life have I seen such an abun- 
dance of trout. We all concluded that we were the 
first fishermen that ever invaded that virgin forest 
and cast a line in that part of the Snake River. 

My official duties made it necessary to say good- 
bye to my friends a few days before the camp 
broke up, and, accompanied by my brother, to ride 
back to Laramie. We again made the hundred and 
twenty-five miles and more in two days, for we had 
a pair of tough and hardy little broncos. The only 
incident of our homeward journey worth recording 
was our experience at a road-station called "Damn- 
fino." Here we were served with a mysterious, 
nondescript sort of hash which was curiously sug- 
gestive of the name of the place. We were so 
hungry that we ate the weird concoction without 
asking any questions, though with a terrible suspi- 
cion which was subsequently more than justified. 
About half an hour after dinner an unmistakable 
odor almost drove us from the place. We asked a 
little boy, a member of the family, why they did 
not get rid of such unpleasant neighbors. 

"Do you mean them skunks?" queried the lad. 
"Oh, we couldn't get along without them there. 
We feed 'em to the fool tenderfoot tourists what 

182 



A MONTH IN THE WOODS 

don't know the difference 'tween a wood-pussy and 
a sage-chicken." 

My brother rushed from the room, and cannot 
even yet speak of the episode without emotion. 

We reached Laramie about eight o'clock on the 
evening of the second day. My family were in 
Kansas City, but two young clergymen were sleep- 
ing in our house and looking after the premises. 
When we tried the front door we found ourselves 
locked out. This was not surprising, as no one was 
expecting us for several days. I remembered that 
one of the front-door keys had been left with a 
neighbor, so I stepped across the street and got it. 
Entering the house, we went straight to the dining- 
room, and, turning on the electric lights, proceeded 
to search the pantry and cellar for something to 
eat and drink, for we were very hungry. We did 
not stop to make any change in our apparel, but 
sat right down just as we were to enjoy the luxury 
of the first meal at home after a month in the 
woods. 

It so happened that within the last few days 
Laramie had been terrorized by burglars. They 
had entered a number of houses, and their depre- 
dations were creating wide - spread apprehension. 
When the two young clergymen, returning from a 
call, drew near the episcopal residence, and saw the 
lights, they went quietly to the dining-room win- 
dows and looked in. There they beheld two rough- 
looking men, whose appearance thoroughly con- 

183 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

firmed their suspicions. Our beards of a month's 
growth and our hunting-clothes made us entirely 
unrecognizable. Immediately one of the young 
men hastened down to the police station while the 
other kept watch. In a few moments the house 
was surrounded by armed men. At a given signal 
one of the clergymen rattled the front door, believ- 
ing the burglars had entered through the kitchen 
and would be peppered with shot as they tried to 
escape by that way. They were surprised to hear 
hilarious voices within, and, on making a second 
attempt to frighten the burglars, to recognize my 
own voice as I cried: "Who's there? Come in." 

Even when the parsons saw us face to face they 
declared that nothing but our voices could have 
saved us, so completely had we been transformed 
in appearance by our month in the woods. The 
next day as we went down street to be photo- 
graphed, our best friends passed us without any 
sign of recognition or suspicion as to our identity. 

I may add in closing that we never captured Old 
Mose, and I suppose we ought to congratulate our- 
selves that Old Mose did not capture us. 



CHAPTER XIII 

TESSY 

IT is generally admitted now that all men are re- 
ligious; that there never was, and in the very 
nature of the case, that there never can be an irre- 
ligious human being. This, of course, is very far 
from asserting that all men are Christians ; for there 
are religions good, bad, and indifferent. But that 
St. Augustine made a true generalization when he 
said, "All men are made for Thee, Lord, and 
there is no rest for the soul till it finds its rest in 
Thee," can hardly be doubted by any unprejudiced 
student of human nature. The appeal which 
genuine Christianity makes to the human heart is 
so wellnigh irresistible just because it finds that 
heart prepared by anticipation to receive its mes- 
sage. Otherwise, it had long since perished from 
off the face of the earth. No one, I venture to say, 
could have spent twelve years in close contact with 
the various types of men presented in Wyoming 
and Idaho, when it was my privilege to minister to 
that people, without taking a hopeful view of the 
unlimited possibilities of the human soul. One 
lesson that I learned was that underneath all life of 

185 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

passion there are spiritual potentialities for the 
meanest; that underneath all vice there is still 
something true; that deeper than the deepest 
degradation there is still a hope unspeakable and 
full of glory. The cow-boy or the miner has some- 
times but little religion to talk about, but he usu- 
ally responds nobly to an appeal to his unselfish- 
ness or generosity or courage. Let some misfortune 
befall a brother man, and see how quickly he will 
come to the rescue. Judged by many of the out- 
ward or conventional standards, I admit he falls 
very far short; but when you come to put him to 
the test of real fraternity, and measure him by the 
spirit of disinterested service to his fellow -man, he 
will often surprise you. Indeed, he is not to be 
blamed for his carelessness about church-going, as 
there is frequently no church for him to attend. 
Think of the spiritual destitution which prevails in 
the far-off mining-camp Try to picture to your- 
self the life of a cow-boy on the plains thirty years 
ago. Realize, if you can, the abject loneliness of a 
sheep-herder amid the sage-brush, spending days 
and nights for months without converse with a 
human being. Under such conditions of spiritual 
famine one cannot be surprised to find instances 
here and there where, with many good traits, men 
are lacking in those finer qualities of moral dis- 
crimination which, after all, are the products of 
careful home training and education. 

Tessy Holstein was such a man. If his story has 

1 86 



TESSY 

its amusing side, I beg the reader not to lose sight 
of the infinite pathos which brings him to our 
notice and fairly entitles him to some charitable 
consideration in view of a situation too dark to con- 
template. Tessy was a miner. He had a promis- 
ing claim in the mountains about twenty-five miles 
from a certain town in northern Idaho. He was a 
German by birth, but left his native land and 
crossed the Atlantic while yet a youth. The spirit 
of adventure led him into the Far West, where 
stories of marvellous discoveries of gold were filling 
the world with wonder. Again and again in his 
eventful life he had a fortune, as he thought, almost 
within his grasp, when all at once his hopes would 
be dashed. At the time I first heard of him he was 
taking out some good high-grade ore, and more 
than making wages. 

Early one morning in December he started to 
town to lay in some provisions. The sun was shin- 
ing brightly, and there was every promise of one of 
those fine, warm days which are not uncommon in 
the early winter of the Rocky Mountain region. 
But it is also characteristic of that locality that 
some of the worst snow-storms come at that time, 
and entirely without warning. The miner was 
afoot, and had not proceeded far on his way before 
he was caught in such a blizzard. It was one of 
those blinding storms when it is impossible to see 
one's way, and the thermometer drops suddenly to 
many degrees below zero. All through that coun- 

187 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

try one hears tragic stories of men perishing within 
a few steps of their homes, blinded by the fury of 
the gale and overcome by the cold. It is the cus- 
tom of the ranchman to have guide-ropes leading 
from his own door to his barn, his corral, his well, 
and all the various out -buildings, for he knows he 
may at any time be suddenly overtaken by a 
blizzard, and, in that case, his life would actually 
be in danger without these safeguards. Tessy was 
entirely familiar with the road, and had walked it 
time and again; but he lost his way, and wandered 
about helplessly, often coming back to the same 
place where he first left the trail. The blizzard 
raged with unabating fury all that day and late 
into the night. At last, overcome by long exposure 
to the cold, faint, and weakened by hunger, Tessy 
began to feel sleepy and to realize that his body 
was becoming numb and that he was freezing. He 
could never recall when he had fallen, for he lost 
consciousness suddenly in the embrace of that 
sleep which is destined to end in death. 

The following day dawned bright and clear, as is 
often the case after such a storm. Tessy 's friends 
in town knew he was expected the night before, and 
were anxious about his fate when he did not put in 
an appearance. Accordingly they lost no time in 
organizing a search-party, and it was not long be- 
fore the unfortunate miner's body was found under 
a heap of snow that had drifted about it. Brush- 
ing away the white mantle that enveloped him, the 



TESSY 

searchers were convinced that their friend was 
dead ; but in response to their loud calls and vigor- 
ous shaking and rubbing, Tessy manifested faint 
signs of life. Brandy and restoratives were ad- 
ministered, and at last he was brought back to 
consciousness. They carried him to town, and 
placed him in the little emergency hospital pro- 
vided for such cases. Upon examination it was 
discovered that his arms and legs were frozen; but 
with great difficulty and only by means of the 
most skilful treatment his arms were saved; his 
lower limbs had to be amputated close to the body. 
He was a very vigorous man and in perfect health, 
and in a few months was convalescent. Two small 
three-legged stools used by his strong arms and 
hands had to take the place of legs. With these it 
was astonishing how well Tessy could propel him- 
self. With a little practice he learned to move 
about as rapidly as occasion demanded, but of 
course his occupation as a miner was at an end. 

Even before he had been allowed to leave the 
hospital his generous and sympathetic friends, sup- 
ported by the whole community, had raised a con- 
siderable sum of money, rented a small, vacant 
store-room, and furnished and supplied it as a 
candy and cigar stand, where Tessy could make a 
living. He at once took charge, and a little boy 
who needed the small wages which the place afford- 
ed was employed to run errands and help in the 
store. The grateful recipient of all this generosity 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

displayed much artistic taste in decorating the little 
room and making it as attractive as possible. He 
catered especially to the hundreds of school-chil- 
dren, who found Tessy 's shop an ideal place for 
their numerous small demands. Then the men felt 
in honor bound to go there for their cigars and 
tobacco. The result was that Tessy began to do a 
lucrative business. He had a remarkable genius 
for making and keeping his money. He slept be- 
hind the counter, and prepared his meals on a little 
stove at the back of the store. Hence he was al- 
ways on hand to serve his customers. He developed 
more and more agility in handling himself. His 
arms became so strong that he could pull himself 
up without apparent effort to get any object from 
the shelves. He was admirably adapted to the 
peculiar financial conditions that prevailed in the 
place at that time. He availed himself of the 
high rate of interest by loaning on good security 
small sums of money, and thus his accumulations 
rapidly increased. 

Years passed. Incredible as it may seem, Tessy 
was quoted in Bradstreet's Mercantile Agency as 
worth seventy-five thousand dollars. He was highly 
esteemed in the town as a man of financial ability 
and integrity. 

One day the rumor went forth that Tessy had 
purchased an eligible piece of ground on a com- 
manding site, and had determined to erect a fine 
residence. Before many weeks the foundations 

190 



TESSY 

were being laid, and gradually the house on the hill 
took form. It proved to be one of the most im- 
posing and attractive homes in the little town. 
When it was nearing completion the proud owner 
took council with some of the ladies of his acquaint- 
ance as to the decorations and furnishings. Hand- 
some carpets, tasteful wall-paper, luxurious up- 
holstery, and expensive furniture were procured. 
To add to all this, the house was heated throughout 
with steam and lighted with electricity. 

By this time people began to wonder and specu- 
late. "What does Tessy mean? Surely he is not 
thinking of getting married." But no other theory 
could account for all this lavish expenditure. At 
last, after much conjecture and questioning on the 
part of his friends, Tessy frankly admitted that he 
was looking for a wife. It leaked out that in his 
emergency he had consulted some one who advised 
him that the best way to get a good wife was to 
send for a copy of the Heart and Hand, a magazine 
published by a Chicago matrimonial bureau. He 
was told that many of the lonely bachelors in the 
Far West, where ladies are so scarce, had by this 
plan drawn rare prizes. In fact, it was well known 
that there were a number of wives in that com- 
munity who had been acquired in that way, and 
who had proved entirely satisfactory. Accordingly, 
he had sent for a copy of this wonderful publica- 
tion. When it came he was delighted. On its 
pages, in rich profusion, he could gaze upon the 

191 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

faces of a great variety of fair women from whom 
to choose. There he saw illustrations depicting 
maidens and widows, blondes and brunettes, young 
and old. It was really embarrassing to make a 
selection when all seemed to him so charming and 
attractive. At last, however, he was especially 
pleased with the picture of a widow of about forty. 
He flattered himself that he was a judge of char- 
acter, and he thought "he could discern in the per- 
sonal charms of this fair creature just the charac- 
teristics sure to make him forever happy. 

Under each picture there was a little description 
which assisted his imagination to complete the ideal 
he might form. Then, best of all, there was the 
address; so, having made his selection, he lost no 
time in writing the object of his choice. He told 
her of his great loneliness, and of his longing for a 
congenial companion to share his future life; he 
said that he had been reasonably successful in busi- 
ness; that he possessed a comfortable home, neatly 
furnished and ready to receive her ; that she need not 
take his word for his financial standing, but could 
consult any banker in Chicago, where she would learn 
that he was quoted in Bradstreet as worth seventy- 
five thousand dollars; that he did not owe a dollar 
in the world. Finally, to clinch the argument, he en- 
closed one of his photographs, and intimated that 
he would be much gratified to receive one of hers 
in return. In due course of mail he was made 
happy by the arrival of an entirely satisfactory re- 

192 



TESSY 

ply, and with it a photograph from which it seemed 
to him that the engraving in the Heart and Hand 
had not revealed one tithe of the fascination of the 
original. She expressed herself as delighted with 
his letter and his photograph, and said she was dis- 
posed to consider favorably his proposition; that 
she, too, was alone in the world, and without means, 
and that the prospect of such a home as she was 
confident he could give her appealed to her strongly. 

Tessy sent her a generous draft to provide for her 
trousseau and purchase her railroad transportation 
to his home. He went fully into detail as to the 
route, and made it clear to her that on reaching 
the terminus of a certain railroad she was to take a 
boat which would bring her at about seven o'clock 
in the evening to her destination. He told her he 
would, of course, meet her on the arrival of the 
boat, and, to make her feel more at home, would 
have some of his friends among the ladies and also 
the clergyman who was to perform the ceremony 
accompany him to the landing. 

Fortunately, all turned out just as Tessy had 
planned. The boat arrived on scheduled time. 
The expectant bridegroom, seated in a handsome 
new carriage and driving a spirited team of bays, 
was promptly on hand. As the horses were some- 
what nervous, Tessy, protected from the chill 
evening air by a comfortable lap-robe, thought it 
best to remain in the carriage, while the clergyman 
and the ladies went down to the boat to welcome 

i93 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the bride-elect. She was there, radiant with smiles 
and eager with expectation. The ladies accorded 
her a gracious welcome, and the rector looked after 
her baggage, giving directions that it should be de- 
livered without loss of time at her new home, for 
the wedding was to take place immediately. The 
party then ascended the hill to the carriage, where 
Tessy greeted his future bride with gracious cordi- 
ality. He delicately apologized for not going down 
to the boat, telling her that his horses were restless, 
and asked the clergyman to assist the ladies into the 
carriage and get in himself. 

So far, all had gone as smoothly as possible. Of 
course, the clergyman and the two ladies never so 
much as dreamed that Tessy had not acquainted 
the Chicago widow with the story of his physical 
misfortune. But, as a matter of fact, all the 
knowledge the unfortunate woman had gained of 
his appearance had been gathered from the photo- 
graph he had sent her, and it was not taken at full 
length. Hence, everybody was happy but Tessy 
himself. Every step the horses took towards home 
added to his feeling of awful apprehension. He 
realized that the time was now at hand when the 
whole truth must be revealed. What would hap- 
pen? How would she take it? But at last he 
drew up in front of his brightly illuminated house. 
A servant was in readiness to take charge of the 
horses and another to assist them from the carriage 
to the house. Poor Tessy, with greater nimbleness 

194 



TESSY 

and agility than he had ever displayed before in his 
life, began to climb down the front wheel, and was 
ready to receive the bridal party. As the widow 
alighted, her eyes fell on Tessy. Then all the pent- 
up feelings of her nature found vent in one great, 
prolonged sulphurous explosion of wrath and in- 
dignation. The clergyman assured me that he 
never in all his life heard such language as poured 
forth from the lips of that justly furious woman. 
He said he actually feared that in her unbridled 
rage she would literally leap at Tessy and utterly 
annihilate him. Meanwhile, the clergyman and 
ladies gradually learned for the first time that the 
woman had been grossly deceived. They could 
hardly believe it, so utterly different was such con- 
duct from their long-cherished opinion of their old 
friend as a man of honor. They openly rebuked 
him; told him they were ashamed of him, and had 
they known he had withheld from her the knowl- 
edge to which for every reason she was entitled, 
they would have taken no part in the disgraceful 
affair. At the same time they assured her of their 
sympathy. At last, through sheer exhaustion, the 
widow calmed down. The ladies gently expostu- 
lated with her, told her they would not desert her; 
that, as Tessy had so wickedly deceived her, she 
was under no obligation to him whatsoever; but 
they also added that, bad as Tessy seemed in this 
one instance, he was really a kind-hearted, good 
man, and stood high in the community. They 

14 195 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

pledged her their support to the end, and guar- 
anteed that Tessy would pay her way back to 
Chicago. . 

"But," said one of them, "you are very tired 
after your long journey. Come into the house. 
You will find a warm supper prepared for you, and 
you can rest and refresh yourself. Then we will go 
down with you to the hotel, and secure you com- 
fortable quarters until you are ready to return 
East." 

Their kindly and sympathetic councils prevailed, 
and she accompanied them into the house. Gradu- 
ally a peace conference was brought about. Tessy 
was evidently ready not only to surrender fully all 
territory demanded, but to make good any in- 
demnity she might ask. The charm and comfort 
of the pretty new house also had its effect. Who 
can wonder that, before the evening was over, un- 
der the healing influences of her environment and 
the eloquent appeals of Tessy, the feminine sus- 
ceptibility of the woman's nature was prevailed 
upon, and the wedding followed. Congratulations 
poured in from every side, and though he could 
always bear witness that for one tumultuous hour 
at least the course of true love had not run smooth, 
Tessy was supremely happy. 



CHAPTER XIV 

MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

A MISSIONARY bishop is so called because he 
is sent out by the whole church as her repre- 
sentative. The church at home undertakes not 
only to support the bishop himself, but also to pro- 
vide at least in part the means necessary to maintain 
a staff of missionary clergy to assist him in the work 
of evangelization. The conditions which prevail in 
a newly settled country to which a domestic mis- 
sionary bishop is assigned are such that his own 
scattered flock, poor and unorganized, can at first 
contribute but little towards the maintenance of 
the ecclesiastical establishment. This was espe- 
cially true in the case of the sparsely populated 
missionary district of Wyoming and Idaho twenty 
years ago. Indeed, it may generally be assumed 
that people who leave their homes, and as pioneers 
endure the hardships and privations incident to 
frontier life, are without money. The motive that 
induces them to make such sacrifices is that of 
necessity. They desire to improve their condition 
by taking advantage of the opportunities which 
present themselves in a new country. Young men 

197 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

in whom there is a strong spirit of adventure, and 
who are without family ties, are likely to form a 
large contingent of the population. As years go by, 
homes are established, towns and villages are built, 
and the various communities gradually become able 
to support their own churches. But in the more 
primitive and formative period of their history, un- 
less the mother-church at home follows her children, 
keeps in touch with them, and supplies them with 
Christian privileges, spiritual neglect must inevita- 
bly ensue. 

Again, when the missionary bishop is sent out it 
is understood that he goes as the chief missionary 
of the flock. He may, indeed, be the only clergy- 
man whom the people see from year to year. But 
the time comes when growth and development be- 
gin. 'New railroads are being built, new mines are 
discovered, and thousands of people are flocking in 
to seek homes where all is so full of life and promise. 
It is the church's obvious duty to be so equipped 
as to meet the people as they come and enlist them 
in Christian service. Churches, schools, and hos- 
pitals must be provided, the clergy must be sup- 
ported, and there is no time to be lost. It is at 
such a crisis of material growth and activity that 
the missionary bishop feels the need of help from 
the church at home. Unless opportunities are 
seized at once they will be lost perhaps forever. 
It devolves upon him to make the situation known, 
and to induce those who have means to help him. 

198 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

Occasions when he may bring his work and its 
needs before the church are frequently given him. 
The columns of the church papers are gladly placed 
at his disposal. Missionary conferences held every 
year in different parts of the country always wel- 
come the presence of the missionary bishop or his 
representative fresh from the field. Once in every 
three years the general convention, calling together 
hundreds of delegates from all parts of the church, 
meets to consider as its chief concern the progress 
of the Gospel throughout the world. Then, when 
any pressing need seems to make it imperative, the 
bishop sends a personal appeal to individuals and 
churches for relief. Thus, in my own experience, 
the cathedral at Laramie, where the Wyoming 
University is located, the Shoshone Indian School, 
St. Margaret's school for girls, Boise, Idaho, and 
between thirty and forty churches were made pos- 
sible. Of course, it is most important that the peo- 
ple in the missionary field should develop the spirit 
of self-help, and that no outside assistance should 
be given until a liberal and self-sacrificing devotion 
is evinced. Otherwise, there is danger of pauperiz- 
ing the recipients and paralyzing the spiritual en- 
ergy of the people. But I always found that if my 
own people out of their poverty gave generously, 
there was a corresponding readiness on the part of 
churchmen in the older and more wealthy com- 
munities to show practical sympathy. 

It was my good fortune to make in the prosecution 
199 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

of my work a number of friends on whom I could de- 
pend regularly for various sums ranging from one 
hundred dollars to three thousand dollars a year. 
Among these were such noble laymen as Messrs. 
Harold and John Nicholas Brown, of Providence; 
Messrs. Lemuel Coffin and H. H. Houston, of Phila- 
delphia, and others. Then of faithful women there 
were not a few who gave year by year most gener- 
ously. The loyal confidence thus expressed enabled 
me to build up a constituency of supporters on whom 
I could always rely. There are still living those — 
men and women — who held up my hands with lov- 
ing loyalty all through these anxious years, and if I 
were permitted to mention their names they would 
be recognized as large - hearted and consecrated 
givers, to whom such service for the Master always 
seems a sacred privilege which they exercise with 
wise discrimination and the utmost conscientious- 
ness. Then within the limits of my missionary dis- 
trict was a constantly growing number of my own 
people, who gave of their money and their time. I 
was especially fortunate in having in various parts 
of the diocese young women who had been well 
trained for Christian service in St. Margaret's, our 
school for girls in Boise, Idaho. For this great 
blessing I was largely indebted to Miss Frances M. 
Buchan, the principal, who launched the insti- 
tution from its very beginning into an atmos- 
phere of missionary zeal, and inspired the girls 
with a strong desire to carry the church and its 

200 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

refining influences into their respective communi- 
ties. 

During the greater part of my episcopate in 
Wyoming and Idaho I owed much to the munifi- 
cence of an English churchman who lived in Lon- 
don. I met him by chance in Boise, where he was 
visiting a friend. I have rarely known a more 
godly man. To him religion was the great concern 
of life, and the church, which embodied in his mind 
the religion of the Master, received the unstinted 
homage of his heart. While a very successful busi- 
ness man, it was evident that his chief motive for 
making money was to have the joy of bestowing it 
where it could be of the greatest service to his fel- 
low-man. It was not necessary for me to ask him 
for money. He was constantly writing me to as- 
certain my plans and to inform me that at such a 
time in the near future he would be glad to send 
me a draft for some specified amount provided I 
had an object which I deemed important to ac- 
complish. He was greatly interested in the build- 
ing of the cathedral at Laramie, and from time to 
time made large contributions towards its comple- 
tion. During the latter part of his life I was his 
guest for several days at his quiet home in London. 
In several instances when I was confronted with 
anxious financial problems and needed assistance in 
carrying out certain important plans, his check 
would unexpectedly come quite unsolicited, bringing 
me almost the exact amount I required. If this 

201 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

had occurred only once I should have thought but 
little of it, but, happening again and again, I could 
not but regard it as a direct answer to rny prayers. 
On two occasions during my Western episcopate 
I went to England to attend great missionary 
gatherings. In 1894 there was at St. James's Hall, 
London, a meeting in the interest of foreign evan- 
gelization which brought together not only a large 
representation of the bishops in England, but many 
from the colonies and distant sees wherever the 
Anglican communion had planted itself. At the 
opening meeting Archbishop Benson, who then oc- 
cupied the throne of Canterbury, presided. His 
kindness to me I shall never forget. Of course, I 
realized that it was inspired by a strong desire on 
the part of his grace to do honor to a bishop, how- 
ever unknown, who came from America. While he 
was in residence at the palace at Addington Park 
he invited me to visit him. When I reached his 
home, Mrs. Benson received me, as the Archbishop 
was riding horseback, a diversion in which he was 
wont to indulge morning and evening whenever his 
busy life permitted. Of Mrs. Benson, Mr. Glad- 
stone is said to have remarked that she was the 
cleverest woman in England. She certainly pos- 
sessed a rare grace of manner which immediately 
set one at ease. In making me at home she tact- 
fully directed the conversation to subjects con- 
nected with Wyoming and Idaho, with which she 
naturally assumed some familiarity on my part. I 

202 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

was impressed by the range and comprehensiveness 
of her leading questions. Matters in which women 
generally take little or no interest appealed to her. 
By the time we had talked for an hour or two, 
while afternoon tea was being served, I felt that 
Mrs. Benson could pass as good an examination on 
the agricultural, mineral, stock - growing, political 
and social features of the new West as I could my- 
self, including the experiment of woman's suffrage. 
So fully was I convinced of this that, after the Arch- 
bishop joined us and began in his kindly way to 
seek information about my part of the world, I told 
him that if after I had gone he should discover that 
he had forgotten any point of interest I was sure 
Mrs. Benson could fully enlighten him. 

After dinner that evening, an hour or two was 
spent in conversation in the library, and then 
prayers were said in the chapel. About ten o'clock 
the ladies withdrew, leaving me alone with the 
Archbishop. I knew he was a busy man, with many 
cares of church and state weighing upon him, and a 
large official correspondence demanding his atten- 
tion; besides which, I was aware that he was then 
engaged in writing his great work upon the life of 
St. Cyprian. Hence, feeling a delicacy about de- 
taining him longer from his duties, I arose and ex- 
tended my hand to bid him good -night. He 
begged me to sit longer, but when I insisted on 
withdrawing, suggested that I join his two chap- 
lains in their office where they were just finishing 

203 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

his correspondence. He added that the young men 
would have much to ask me about America, and 
that he would call for me later. I found these uni- 
versity graduates very agreeable, and the time 
passed pleasantly. When I thought the hour had 
arrived when his grace should be calling for me I 
glanced at my watch, and was somewhat startled 
to find it about midnight. 

"Oh," said one of the chaplains, "please con- 
tinue. His grace will knock at our door at two 
o'clock." 

"Two!" I exclaimed. "Does he expect me to sit 
here until two o'clock?" 

"Certainly," was the answer. "He never retires 
until that hour." 

Promptly at two the Archbishop appeared, 
candle in hand, and conducted me to my room. 
As we walked through the long corridor of the 
palace I ventured to express some surprise at the 
late hour. He then told me that he always retired 
at 2 a.m. and arose at seven, and took a ride before 
breakfast. As we entered my quiet bedroom he 
remarked : 

"It may interest you to know that you will oc- 
cupy to-night the bed on which the great Thomas 
Arnold slept at Rugby, and on which he passed away." 

The next morning his grace pointed out to me 
with evident interest the tree under which our be- 
loved Presiding Bishop Williams of Connecticut, 
stretched himself, and delighted them all with his 

204 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

charming American stories. I shall always cherish 
the memory of that visit with peculiar pleasure. It 
was a privilege to know this truly great and lovable 
prelate in the privacy of his own home. He took 
the liveliest interest in our American institutions, 
and entertained a genuine admiration for our peo- 
ple. He was a favorite of Mr. Gladstone, who, 
when prime - minister, had nominated him to his 
high office, and it will be remembered that his 
lamented death occurred when he was visiting the 
great statesman at Hawarden Castle. 

A few years later, when on my way to the Lam- 
beth conference, I called with three other bishops 
on Mr. Gladstone himself, driving out from Chester. 
He had been ill, and when we presented our cards 
at the door the servant said he feared Mr. Glad- 
stone could not see us, as he had been denying him- 
self to all callers of late. But when he discovered, 
as he afterwards told us, that we were American 
bishops, he came down without delay. We asked 
one of our number, the Lord Bishop of Niagara, as 
a British subject, to present us. When Mr. Glad- 
stone heard the title, Bishop of Wyoming, he mani- 
fested quite an interest. 

"I am glad you call it Wyoming," he said. "I 
like to hear the full vocal sound. We had a poet 
about forty years ago, Mr. Thomas Campbell, who 
wrote 'Gertrude of Wyoming.' To scan the metre 
one had to accent the antepenult and say Wyoming. 
I never liked that." 

20s 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

Then the Grand Old Man launched forth and 
asked me many questions. At that time his hear- 
ing was seriously impaired, and I have always 
thought that the mere accident of sitting near him 
and answering his questions distinctly explained 
the fact that he honored my diocese and myself 
with so much of his time and interest. Or perhaps 
this may have been due to the resemblance which 
he fancied he saw, and which seemed to hold his at- 
tention and startle him, between myself and a " very 
dear university friend, young Selwyn," the great 
missionary bishop. He was particularly curious 
about the question of woman's suffrage as adopted 
in Wyoming and Idaho, and also evinced a surpris- 
ing familiarity with our leading industries. Our 
visit was not a protracted one, but nothing could 
have exceeded the graciousness and cordiality of 
Mr. Gladstone towards us. My good and genial 
brother, Dr. Kinsolving, the Bishop of Texas, fa- 
cetiously remarked as we were leaving the castle : 

"Well, Wyoming, if the Grand Old Man had only 
known what a desert you have to preside over, and 
could once see your sage-brush and bowlders and 
jack-rabbits and coyotes, he would not have wasted 
so much time in asking about your country. Why, 
he didn't have a word to say about the great State 
of Texas, a mighty empire in itself." 

It was during this same sojourn in England while 
we were attending the Lambeth conference that all 
the bishops were invited by her Majesty, Queen 

206 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

Victoria, to meet her at Windsor Castle. The Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, at that time Dr. Temple, who 
extended the invitation on behalf of the Queen, re- 
minded us that as her Majesty was rather feeble 
and could not comfortably stand so long, she would 
receive us from her carriage, and while she would 
be glad to shake hands with all of us, he thought 
she had better be spared so great an effort, as there 
were about two hundred bishops. He therefore 
suggested that only the archbishops and metro- 
politans and higher dignitaries of. the various 
national churches be formally presented. At the 
appointed hour, as the bishops were grouped under 
a large tree in the garden of Windsor Castle, the 
royal carriage containing the Queen and some 
members of her family approached. The bishops 
gathered around so that we could hear and see dis- 
tinctly. After the presentation of a few of the old- 
er dignitaries the Queen noticed two African bish- 
ops, and asked that they should be presented. Of 
course, our colored brethren were greatly honored, 
and I remember that the Bishop of Kentucky, Dr. 
Dudley, himself a Southerner, remarked to those of 
us standing near him: 

" Brethren, this is the first time in my life that I 
was ever tempted to regret that I am not a negro." 

On our way out to Windsor Castle that after- 
noon it was my privilege to occupy the same com- 
partment with His Grace the Archbishop, Dr. 
Temple. In the familiar intercourse existing be- 

207 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

tween the several bishops after many days of the 
conference, Dr. Temple was led to dwell upon some 
incidents of his early life. He told us that his 
father had died, leaving his mother in reduced cir- 
cumstances, and largely dependent on her son's 
help. He was very anxious to enter the univer- 
sity, and by dint of the most rigid economy it was 
at last made possible. But when once admitted, 
he was so poor that he could not buy the fuel re- 
quired to heat his room nor the oil for his study- 
lamp. He was therefore compelled to do his study- 
ing under the hall-light furnished by the university, 
and to keep warm by wrapping himself in a blanket. 
He said that at one time when he could hardly see 
how it was possible for him to remain longer in the 
university he had received a draft from a London 
bank for fifty pounds, sent him by some unknown 
friend. He had never been enabled to discover to 
whom he had been indebted in that dark hour, but 
had often felt he would be so happy if only he could 
show his gratitude to his mysterious benefactor. 
His story impressed me at the time as revealing a 
new side of the life of a man who had reached the 
highest dignity in the gift of the nation. While 
similar experiences of early struggles with poverty 
are not unfamiliar to us in the lives of celebrated 
Americans, we are hardly prepared to hear of them 
in England, especially in the case of an archbishop. 
Other distinguished ecclesiastics in England were 
good enough to evince an interest in my missionary 

208 






MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

field and to extend to me much gracious hospitality. 
Among these I am indebted for particular and re- 
peated courtesies and unfailing welcome to His 
Grace the Archbishop of York, and Mrs. Maclagan, 
to the Lord Bishops of London, Lichfield, Norwich, 
Winchester, and Lincoln, and to the Very Rev. 
Dean Gregory of St. Paul's, and Canon Farrar of 
Westminster. 

Among the prominent laymen who welcomed me 
as an American bishop to their beautiful country- 
seats, and were thoroughly identified with the mis- 
sionary cause, are to be mentioned the Duke of 
Newcastle, Lord Ashcombe, Sir John Kennaway, 
and Sir Robert White-Thompson, all noble types of 
English gentlemen, loyal sons of church and state. 

The rectors of a number of the large London 
churches begged me to tell their people the story of 
my Western work, and insisted on giving me the 
offerings for my cathedral. The fact that I had in 
Wyoming and Idaho so many Englishmen who had 
written their friends about my visit made this re- 
quest a natural one. In one London church, where 
I was asked by the vicar to describe some of my 
missionary experiences, I told incidents calculated 
to provoke a smile, and the congregation did not 
hesitate to give visible expression to their feelings. 
After the service the vicar said: 

"I cannot tell you, my lord, how greatly we all 
enjoyed your address. It was most picturesque 
and thrilling; but some parts of it actually made 

209 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

my people laugh, don't you know. The fact is, I 
could hardly keep from smiling myself. I hope 
you will excuse my people." 

He seemed much relieved when I told him that I 
expected them to smile, and should have been dis- 
appointed if they had not done so. 

When as the guest of the Lord Bishop of Nor- 
wich I was stopping at the palace, I was invited to 
spend the night with Canon Hinds-Howell, a ven- 
erable and greatly beloved clergyman, whose parish 
was about seven miles in the country. He was 
nearly ninety years of age, but .was wonderfully 
alert, and still in the full possession of his remark- 
able intellectual gifts. In his prime he had been 
an active participator in many of the stirring scenes 
of English church life and politics. The morning 
after we arrived he took me to visit his parochial 
school, where the little children of the parish were 
taught. There were two rooms separated by fold- 
ing-doors. On the occasion of my visit these were 
thrown together, and the children had gathered 
flowers and evergreens and decorated them quite 
attractively. In addressing the school I asked 
them a number of questions about the Bible and 
the catechism, and found them well instructed in 
both. They had been greatly interested in my 
coming, as they had never seen a bishop, and the 
idea of seeing one from America, and especially 
from the Rocky Mountains, appealed greatly to 
their imaginations. I said: 

2IO 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

"Now, children, I have come to you from the 
Rocky Mountains. I am the Bishop of Wyoming 
and Idaho. That is my diocese. Can any one of 
you tell me what a diocese is?" 

Several of them held up their hands, eagerly 
begging to answer my question. One little, fair- 
haired boy on the front seat was particularly anx- 
ious to tell me. I therefore said to him: 

"Very well, my little man. Tell me now what a 
diocese is." 

Quick as a flash he stood up and said: 

"A diocese, my lord, is a district of land with the 
bishop on top and the clergy underneath." 

There was a peal of laughter from the visitors 
and children, and the vicar himself was delighted, 
saying that he did not believe even an American 
boy could do better than that. 

Of course, there were times when it was quite 
impossible to leave the mission field, however 
urgent the demand for money, and on those occa- 
sions it was convenient to ask some brother bishop 
who could get away just then to represent one's 
work and speak of one's special needs. It was my 
good fortune to have as my next-door neighbor 
Bishop Leonard of Salt Lake, who often helped me 
in this way, and between whom and myself there 
existed a life-long friendship. 

Bishop Leonard and I were born in the same 
little town, Fayette, Missouri, were baptized as 
children together, started to school the same day, 

is 211 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

and sat on the same bench. We subsequently at- 
tended the same fitting - school, and prepared for 
college together. While I had set my heart on go- 
ing to Yale, when the time came I could not sep- 
arate from my friend, and followed him to Dart- 
mouth, which college had been the Alma Mater of 
his distinguished father. Rooming together at 
Dartmouth, and graduating there in the class of 
1870, we both entered the General Theological 
Seminary the following September. After a three 
years' course in theology we were graduated to- 
gether, and ordained at the same time as deacons 
in the Little Church Around the Corner, New 
York. We then returned to Missouri, our native 
State, and served as clergymen in neighboring 
towns. We were ordained to the priesthood to- 
gether in the church, St. Mary's, Fayette, where we 
had been baptized and confirmed. At the time of 
my marriage he performed the ceremony, and I 
officiated at his wedding, and we baptized each 
other's children. Finally, to complete this remark- 
able series of parallelism, we were elected missionary 
bishops within a year of each other, he being sent 
to Utah and Nevada, and I to Wyoming and Idaho. 
At my consecration, which came first, he was one of 
my presenting presbyters, and at his, I preached the 
sermon. There may be other instances where two 
lives have run on thus side by side for so many 
years, but I have never known so remarkable an il- 
lustration, and I cannot tell the story of my Western 

212 




RT. REV. ABIEL LEONARD, D.D., LL.D., BISHOP OF SALT LAKE 



MAKING THE WORK KNOWN 

work without mentioning one with whom I was so 
intimately connected, and who, in so many ways, 
was identified with me in the work itself. His 
lamented death, which occurred recently, deprived 
the church militant of one of her noblest and most 
devoted bishops. 

Thus,, through the great kindness and co-opera- 
tion of friends in the missionary field and through- 
out the country, I could find on my election to the 
diocese of Central Pennsylvania in 1897, abundant 
cause for gratitude and some results of my eleven 
years of labor in the West. Inadequate as these 
results seem, they could never have been accom- 
plished if my efforts had not been seconded by as 
noble a band of faithful clergy as ever cheered a 
bishop's heart. Above all, and more than all else, 
I had the assurance of a confidence and affection on 
the part of the people, which, however undeserved, 
will always be cherished as yielding my greatest 
reward. 

The territory once constituting the missionary 
district of Wyoming and Idaho has, since my de- 
parture, been renamed and readjusted, and assigned 
to four wise and efficient bishops, who are to-day, in 
their several districts, moulding morally and spir- 
itually the lives of those new communities. These 
leaders of God's militant hosts are laying founda- 
tions for the future civilization of a large section of 
our common country, which must in time play an 
important part in its destiny. They need and 

213 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

should receive for the sake of the highest interest 
of the nation as well as of the Church the generous 
support and confidence of broad-minded and patri- 
otic men and women in the stronger centres of the 
East. 



CHAPTER XV 
MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

IF a bishop of the ordinary type is tempted to be 
at all elated by the pride of episcopal office, a 
prompt and ready cure is supplied when he finds 
himself among his Mormon brethren. For every 
town in the land of the Latter-Day Saints has at 
least one bishop, and the larger centres, such as 
Salt Lake and Ogden, abound in them. Nor are 
these dignitaries bishops in name only. They wield 
a power most autocratic and far reaching. Let a 
Christian bishop, for instance, attempt to make a 
visitation of a Mormon town or village. Through 
the kind offices of some Gentile friend or perhaps a 
disgruntled apostate Mormon, the use of a hall or 
a vacant store has been secured in which to hold 
a service. The appointment has been duly an- 
nounced, and the day arrives. Circulars have been 
distributed, and the local papers have drawn atten- 
tion to the proposed visit of the bishop. But when 
the hour comes for the service to begin he finds the 
hall empty. A little reflection will remind him 
that there are bishops and bishops, and in that 
section of the country the bishop who presides over 

215 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

the spiritual affairs of that "stake" has quietly sent 
word around to the faithful to stay at home that 
night. Hence, vacant chairs, with scarcely a sem- 
blance of a congregation, are almost sure to greet 
him. Such was my experience again and again, 
and yet when I met the people themselves in their 
places of business or in'their homes they were never 
lacking in courtesy and consideration. Indeed, the 
organization and discipline of the Mormon hierarchy 
are noteworthy, and go far to explain its almost un- 
limited control over the people. Of its govern- 
ment some one has said that nothing has been more 
perfect since the time of the Cassars. The Roman 
emperor could reach and control with his power at 
once the proud senator and the humblest picket at 
the gate of the provincial outpost. But the Mor- 
mon president sits on the throne of infallibility not 
only to pass upon questions of faith and morals 
when speaking ex - cathedra, but his word is final 
both as to how and when a man should say his 
prayers, and as to whether he shall own hogs or 
trade with Gentiles. Assisting the president rather 
as assessors to a primate or a chancellor in a diocese, 
are the two "first councillors." These form the 
"first presidency." Next are the "quorum of the 
twelve"; then the "seventies"; then the bishops 
with two "councillors" each; next the elders and 
deacons. From the two latter are chosen the 
"ward teachers" — inquisitors, in fact. The town 
is divided into "wards." Nine Salt Lake square 

216 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

blocks used to be a "ward." These each have a 
bishop, acting as a sort of business manager, whose 
house is probably the best in the "ward." He and 
his two councillors reach the elders and the teachers. 
These two latter degrees are grouped in quorums of 
twelve each, and one is chosen to be a member of a 
higher quorum, and so throughout. The teachers 
go in pairs. Mormonism understands the power of 
going two by two. They never send one on a re- 
ligious mission. If one can do it well alone two 
can do it better. If one lonely heart grows sick, 
two are mutually helpful and reassuring. One- 
horse teams run away more easily than two-horse 
teams. Hence, two teachers take a block or go be- 
tween cross streets together. They ask such ques- 
tions as these: "Do you say your family prayers?" 
"Do you uphold the priesthood?" "Do you pay 
your tithing?" "Have you sent in your quarterly 
fast money for the poor?" These inquisitors re- 
port in "secret council" to the priesthood meeting 
every month. The delinquents and malcontents 
are promptly dealt with. Every male among 
them is made a deacon at about fifteen. He is 
baptized and confirmed at eight. When he reaches 
the age of eighteen he is advanced to the priest- 
hood. This office, however, does not involve many 
home duties of a priestly character. The chief sig- 
nificance of the priestly degree for a young man is 
that from that hour he is liable to receive a letter 
from the presidency notifying him that he is ap- 

217 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

pointed to a two years' mission abroad. To this 
rule there are few, if any, exceptions. 

Think what it means to send every year through- 
out our own country and the various countries of 
Europe these young missionaries, numbering some- 
times over two thousand. Where do they go? 
Often the young man goes to the native land of his 
father. Sometimes he arranges to attend a medical 
or dental or law college by day and preach on the 
streets at night. On Saturdays he delivers tracts 
and drums up his crowd for the ''branch meeting." 
His outfit consists of a Prince Albert coat, a white 
necktie, a Mormon's compendium of "Ready-Refer- 
ences of Scripture Texts," and a great deal of cour- 
age and self-assurance tempered with enough of 
religious zeal to arrest the attention of the most 
careless. 

Again, he goes absolutely at his own cost. The 
church must not be taxed for his services one 
penny. Perhaps the "ward" gives him a benefit 
dance, a sort of farewell, the night before he leaves. 
The proceeds often take him to his destination. 
Himself or his father must provide the rest. Often 
he sells his stock, horses or cattle, and sometimes 
his home, and makes these sacrifices cheerfully. It 
is a part of his training and of the essence of his re- 
ligion that he should regard it a great honor to take 
a part in redeeming "lost Israel." There is an ele- 
ment of heroism and self-sacrifice in it which ap- 
peals to his young heart and sets on fire his whole 

218 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

nature. If perchance he should ever fall short in 
money, then the church stands ready to advance it 
to him, or, if married, to his family, and collects it 
from him when he returns or as soon thereafter as 
possible. 

But suppose the man thus appointed to go on 
a two years' mission should refuse? Ah, but he 
will not refuse. Why? Long before the mechanic 
learned the boycott, Brigham Young, a wise man if 
not a good man, a sort of Mormon Standard Oil 
magnate and model financier, had all such con- 
tingencies carefully safe-guarded. 

The Mormon religion is a social religion. No- 
where are social inequalities less distinctly recog- 
nized. The Amateur Dramatic Club is under the im- 
primatur of the bishop. So is the choir and the weekly 
Dancing Club. So is the Woman's Relief and the 
Young Men's Mutual Improvement Society. Let a 
man dare hesitate to obey the high command to 
leave his home and become an exile for two years, 
at his own cost, and every one of these strong or- 
ganizations will refuse him membership and recog- 
nition. The women will taboo him in their homes. 
He will be "visited" by the "teachers." The 
bishop will be sure to hold him up in scorn and 
contempt in his next Sunday's sermon, and he will 
probably be reproved by the presidency, if not sus- 
pended. Indeed, life would become intolerable as 
a result of such a refusal. 

Besides, why should he refuse? Two years 
219 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

abroad is not so bad after all. One sees the world, 
and the welcome of a conquering hero awaits his re- 
turn. It is hard to endure the life of an exile for 
two long years, it is true. At home he had the 
entree of the best families among the Saints. He 
could frequently gaze upon the glorious Temple of 
Zion, the pride of his heart and the glory of his 
fathers. His religion was the all-prevailing and 
dominant one. All this is changed now, and he is 
called upon to endure persecution and loneliness, 
possibly to face death. But. here his faith comes to 
his rescue, and all misgivings flee away. Deep 
down in his heart is the firm conviction that the 
whole world is apostate, and that to his young life 
has been given the unspeakable privilege of making 
known to perishing men the one and only true sal- 
vation. The young Jesuit who prostrates himself 
before the high altar and offers himself a living 
oblation to his God has a higher conception of 
God and a far more spiritual conception of life. I 
doubt if he has any more intense belief that he is 
the chosen vessel to proclaim a peculiar message of 
pardon and peace or a sincerer willingness to make 
any personal sacrifice than the young Mormon as 
he sets out on his missionary campaign. Both are 
trained by men who are known to have made 
similar sacrifices for like cause within recent years. 
Both are taught a definite faith, whether right or 
wrong. Both believe firmly that every sacrifice 
here gains merit for the soul i n heaven. Their 

220 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

heaven is widely different as is their creed. Yet 
both are led from twelve years of age to look for- 
ward to a definite sacrifice and a definite reward of 
a thousandfold, each after his own conception. 

And what do these young people teach, who year 
by year are flooding the whole civilized world with 
their missionaries? They preach a very enticing 
and fascinating gospel. It is a mistake to imagine 
that they do not profess to be Christians, The 
Mormon missionary does make this claim, and the 
Christian Bible goes hand-in-hand with the Book of 
Mormon. Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, is 
one of their prophets. If they repudiated the 
Christian Gospel they would be shorn of half their 
power. They allege that the revelations vouch- 
safed to Joseph Smith, their founder, are but a 
modern application of the teaching of Jesus; that 
the Book of Mormon is but a continuation of the 
story of the Gospel. In other words, Mormonism is 
but a corrupted form of Christianity. 

The missionaries find their converts in the crowd- 
ed slums of London and other large cities of Europe. 
They go to Manchester, Birmingham, Sheffield, 
Liverpool, and all the large centres of population in 
England, Germany, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. 
Nor do the country villages always escape. Wher- 
ever the conditions of life are hard and narrow and 
discontent is brewing they are likely to find a wel- 
come. It is a great advantage to them, to begin 
with, that they come from America, the land of the 

221 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

free, where the oppressed of all nations are made 
welcome. Then they tell of a land flowing with 
milk and honey, where a rich harvest rewards 
honest toil. To each convert they offer a farm 
without money and without price. Of course, he 
will be expected in due time to pay for this land 
a nominal price per acre, but meanwhile a home 
will be built and a good living secured. Even his 
passage across the Atlantic and the entire cost of 
transportation from New York to the far distant 
valley of the Salt Lake are advanced to the con- 
vert, with the understanding that when he is able 
he will repay. Thus it is that converts are made 
by the thousands, and it cannot be denied that, 
generally speaking, the material conditions of Mfe in 
store for those who lend a willing ear to these se- 
ductive promises are greatly improved. I am far 
from saying that false inducements are held out. 
Still less that disappointment and failure await the 
Mormon immigrant. On the contrary, the wilder- 
ness has been made to blossom as the rose. Vast 
areas of desert land have been transformed into 
fertile farms, yielding incredible harvests of grain 
and fruit. The most prejudiced enemy of the Mor- 
mon Church must admit that the thrift, industry, 
and unremitting labor of the people are beyond all 
praise. 

Much has been said of Brigham Young, who was 
the maker though not the founder of Mormonism. 
There are many still living who knew him well, and 

222 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

his character and personality are easily ascertained. 
He was a New-Englander, and was thirty years of 
age when he became identified with the Mormons. 
He was by trade a painter, and did not have the 
advantages of a liberal education, but was pos- 
sessed of remarkable natural shrewdness, and was a 
born leader of men. Large, masterful, somewhat 
unscrupulous, fertile in resources, he left the im- 
press of his genius and organizing power upon the 
Mormons indelibly. Indeed, in many respects, as 
his work unmistakably shows, he was a unique man. 
As a far-seeing executive, giving attention to every 
detail which tended to add efficiency to his some- 
what complicated machinery, he has had few 
equals. Innumerable are the stories illustrating 
his native wit and versatility. It is said that one 
day a Welshman with one leg had been converted 
on the promise that Brigham could cause a new leg 
to grow. He reached Salt Lake, and forthwith pre- 
sented himself at the "Zion House Office,' ' and was 
confronted by the great man. 

"And so you want a new leg, do you?" said 
Brigham. "Well, I can give it you, but remember 
that all the attributes you have in this life will be 
resurrected at the last day. Now, you have already 
had two legs, and if I create for you a third, then 
in eternity you will be like a monstrosity, and will 
have three legs. Besides, you are already old, and 
cannot live much longer. Choose, therefore, be- 
tween a new leg here and three in heaven." 

223 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

The poor fellow naturally decided to try to be 
content with one leg here that he might have only 
two hereafter. 

The Mormons' idea of resurrection is sameness 
rather than identity. Hence, when an amputation 
is performed in the hospital or elsewhere the friends 
wait for the dismembered part, label it carefully, 
and bury it till its owner dies. Otherwise it would 
be travelling through space to find the body to 
which it belongs. 

It was an old idea which still survives among 
them that a man's glory in heaven is in proportion 
to his " kingdom," which means his children here. 
Hence, a brother who died childless was often suc- 
ceeded by a "proxy" husband, who took the widow 
to raise up children "for the dead." 

Brigham Young showed his wisdom in many 
ways, and not least in directing the energies of his 
people to agriculture rather than mining. Had he 
permitted them to go into mining in the fifties, 
there never would have been the thrifty, prosper- 
ous, and beautiful valleys and well-laid out towns 
that now delight the eye in a country so recently a 
desert of sage-brush. 

As this strange religion has become so important 
a factor in the development of our Western States 
and Territories, and is destined in some form, how- 
ever modified, to continue to grow and spread 
among our people, it may be well at this point to 
give a brief resume of its rise and progress. Like 

224 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

every other institution, it has a history, and if many 
of its claims may seem to us apocryphal, some 
slight knowledge of its genius and spirit will at 
least enable us to understand it better. 

It is safe to assume that the great mass of those 
who are classed as Mormons or Latter-Day Saints 
are honest and conscientious as religious people gen- 
erally. The great sacrifices which, as we have seen, 
they are willing to make in attestation of their be- 
lief, the industry, thrift, and indefatigable energy 
which they have evinced in overcoming obstacles 
wellnigh insurmountable, the superb organization 
which holds them together as one mind and soul — 
all this challenges our respectful consideration, and 
leads us to ask, Whence and how did Mormonism 
come? The sect in its origin and growth presents 
one of the most interesting of all the religious 
phenomena of modern times. 

Joseph Smith, its founder, was born in Sharon, 
Windsor County, Vermont, December 23, 1805. 
He removed with his father during childhood, and 
settled near Palmyra, Wayne County, New York. 
Amid these wild forests he was reared a farmer, and 
inured to all the hardships, toils, and privations of 
a newly settled country. His education, therefore, 
was very limited. His followers claim that when 
about seventeen years of age he had several open 
visions in which a holy angel administered to him, 
admonished him for his sins, taught him repentance 
and faith in the crucified and risen Messiah, opened 

225 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

to him the Scriptures of the prophets, unfolded to 
him the field of prophecy pertaining to the latter- 
day glory and the doctrines of Christ and His 
ancient apostles. 

These followers further allege that on the 2 2d of 
September, 1827, the angel directed the youthful 
prophet to a hill a few miles distant, called anciently 
Cumorah. Around this hill in the fifth century of 
the Christian era had rallied the last remnant of a 
once powerful and highly polished nation called the 
Nephites. At the head of these was the renowned 
Mormon, the general of a hundred battles, and sec- 
ond in command General Moroni. These were the 
last prophets of a nation now no more. They held 
the sacred records, compiled and transmitted by 
their fathers from the remotest antiquity. They 
held the Urim and the Thummim and the compass 
of Lehi which had been prepared by Providence to 
guide a colony from Jerusalem to America. 

In this hill, Cumorah, they had safely deposited 
all these sacred treasures. Here they lay concealed 
for fourteen hundred years; here the angel Moroni 
directed the young Joseph to find these long-buried 
revelations and with them the Urim and Thummim. 
The abridged record thus obtained had been en- 
graved in Egyptian characters on gold plates by 
the two prophets Mormon and Moroni. Instructed 
by the angel and the use of the Urim and Thum- 
mim, Joseph, now a prophet and seer, was enabled 
to translate them. Early in 1830 this translation, 

226 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

with the accompanying testimony, was published 
in English under the title of the Book of Mormon. 
It has since been translated and published in nearly 
all European languages. 

Joseph continued to receive visions, revelations, 
and the ministry of angels, by whom he was at 
length ordained to the apostleship or high priest- 
hood, after the order of Melchizedec, to hold the 
keys of the kingdom of God, the dispensation of the 
fulness of time. Thus qualified, he proceeded in 
1830 to organize the Church of the Latter-Day 
Saints. In the same year branches of the church 
were organized in various parts of New York, Penn- 
sylvania, Ohio, and elsewhere, and the number of 
his disciples increased to upward of one thousand. 
In 1835 he ordained a quorum of twelve apostles 
and several quorums of seventy as a travelling min- 
istry. In 1840 the quorum of the twelve apostles 
visited England, and gathered great numbers into 
the church. 

It was between the years 1840 and 1844 that the 
prophet gathered about him many thousands of his 
disciples, erected the city of Nauvoo, Illinois, on 
the banks of the Mississippi, and commenced the 
building of a magnificent temple. Coming into con- 
flict with the civil authority on account of alleged 
polygamous practices the Mormons were driven 
from Illinois as they had been previously driven 
from Missouri. Joseph Smith and his brother 
Hyrum were thrown in prison at Carthage, Illinois, 

16 227 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

on the charge of treason, and were killed as a result 
of an attack upon the jail by the infuriated popu- 
lace. Wearied with long - continued persecution, 
the council of the apostles now determined to seek 
peace for the Saints among the far-off and almost 
unexplored deserts and mountains of the West. 

On July 24, 1847, the pioneers of this vast emi- 
gration, headed by the president of the whole 
church, Brigham Young, entered the valley of the 
Great Salt Lake. In the mean time, to quote from 
one of the Mormon historians, "The beautiful 
Nauvoo and its surrounding farms and villas fell a 
prey to the enemy, after a vigorous defence. Its 
temple, the pride and glory of America, was laid in 
ashes. Its last remnant plundered, robbed of their 
all, sick, destitute, wounded, bleeding, dying, at 
length disappeared beyond the horizon of the il- 
limitable plains of the West, and for a moment the 
curtain of oblivion closed over this strange drama, 
and the Kingdom of God seemed lost to mortal 
view." 

I have ventured thus to give this summary of the 
beginnings of this strange sect as a sort of historic 
setting for the remarks which follow, and as throw- 
ing some light on their beliefs and practices. It is 
not my purpose to enter fully into the discussion of 
their religious views, in which the public has but 
little interest, except to observe that among the 
various revelations which Joseph Smith claimed to 
receive from the Almighty was one sanctioning 

228 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

polygamy. This revelation bears the date of July 
12, 1843. 

As the civil laws of the United States, quite apart 
from questions of religion, make it a crime and mis- 
demeanor for a man to have more than one wife at 
a time, it is not at all strange that Mormonism, with 
polygamy as one of its most cherished and charac- 
teristic beliefs, aroused, as soon as this became 
known, the most violent spirit of opposition in all 
true Americans. It was felt that the sacredness of 
the home and the purity of family life were seri- 
ously imperilled. Hence it was that the governors 
of our several States, especially those of Missouri 
and Illinois, where the disciples of Joseph Smith 
were intrenching themselves, felt called upon to rid 
their commonwealths of a grave menace to civiliza- 
tion. 

The conflicts which ensued were inevitable, and 
resulted in expelling the Mormons from their bor- 
ders into the uninhabited desert. Whether our 
government did not greatly err in tolerating the 
evil of polygamy among the Mormons for so many 
years after they went to Salt Lake is now scarcely 
debatable, but it was only a matter of time when 
the issue had to be squarely met and the practice 
put under the ban of the law. 

Let us now consider their present attitude tow- 
ards the government and our duty with reference 
to them as a people. 

As to the practice of polygamy, enjoined by rev- 
229 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

elation to Joseph Smith, their founder, in 1843, it 
must not be forgotten that another revelation dis- 
tinctly repudiating polygamy came to President 
Woodruff, his successor, in 1890. This second rev- 
elation occurred very opportunely, and relieved the 
Mormon hierarchy of an embarrassing situation, for 
the government had now become fully aroused to 
the enormity of the practice, and had determined 
to put it down. Indeed, it was only on the ex- 
pressed condition that polygamy should cease that 
Utah was admitted into the Union. It was a great 
advantage to have the iron-clad law of the land for- 
bidding plural marriages backed up by the approv- 
ing voice and sanction of the will of God as com- 
municated by special revelation to the infallible 
head of the church. Nevertheless, many were the 
hardships involved in this radical change in social 
and domestic relations. Those men who had more 
than one wife, and that was the rule rather than 
the exception, especially among the well-to-do, had 
to select the wife first married as the lawful one 
and put away the others. But there rested on all 
such the moral obligation wisely recognized by the 
government, to still provide for and support the 
wives and children once recognized as a part of the 
family. 

^The government then addressed itself to the im- 
portant duty of seeing that henceforth no more 
plural marriages should take place. And in this at- 
titude the church was, theoretically, at least, in 

230 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

sympathy with the States. Numerous instances, 
however, were found where the law of church and 
state was ignored, and the practice has died a very 
slow and gradual death. The public conscience 
has been somewhat shocked to find that high offi- 
cials of the church when arraigned have unblush- 
ingly admitted that they were living with several 
wives. Just how extensive the practice of plural 
marriages has been since President Woodruff issued 
his manifesto forbidding it, would be difficult to 
judge from the evidence so far produced. For my- 
self, I am clearly convinced that less than three per 
cent, at present care to practise polygamy, and they 
find that the risk of exposure is too great to at- 
tempt it. 

Then, besides the ecclesiastical and civil barriers 
now imposed, two other considerations have in- 
creasing weight in eliminating polygamy. I refer, 
first, to the economical question involved. As the 
country is becoming more thickly settled, competi- 
tion and the difficulty of living make increasing de- 
mand on one's resources. When one considers how 
much it costs the ordinary carpenter, laborer, 
mechanic, clerk, farmer, to keep the average Ameri- 
can home with its regulation number of children, 
say one son and one daughter and one wife, it be- 
comes evident that polygamy is a luxury for the 
few only, inside of Mormonism as it is outside; 
and that only the well-to-do classes can support 
two homes. 

231 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

Add to the fact that every Mormon woman 
reckons her glory here and her joy in eternity on the 
basis of the number of children she can give her 
husband, and one can see that modern conditions 
alone will soon tend to make polygamy prohibitory. 

But a second and more potent influence is the 
effect of education and contact with American civ- 
ilization. It must be remembered that for years 
Mormonism was intrenched within itself. It was 
literally an imperium in imperio. Brigham Young 
considered it an impertinence on the part of the 
United States even to set foot on territory reserved 
exclusively, as he maintained, for the kingdom of 
the Latter-Day Saints. Nor did he hesitate to say 
as much in the most unequivocal language. The 
Mormons were practically isolated and cut off from 
the rest of the world. But they are no longer apart 
by themselves. The advent of the railroad and the 
telegraph has been followed by thousands of Ameri- 
cans who are pouring out West to establish homes 
in the fertile valleys which irrigation now makes 
available. In Salt Lake City to-day the Gentiles 
frequently carry the city elections over the Mor- 
mon vote. The disproportion of population in 
favor of the Saints is becoming less and less daily. 
They are destined ultimately to be out-voted and to 
surrender their political supremacy. 

Meanwhile, many of the bright children, sons and 
daughters of the more prosperous families, are being 
sent East in large numbers, year by year, the young 

232 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

men to Yale, Harvard, Columbia, and the young 
women to Smith, Vassar, and Wellesley colleges. 
However loyally these young people may cling to 
the religious traditions of their fathers, it is impos- 
sible tS conceive of them as passing four or five 
years in the atmosphere and companionship of 
Christian homes without being made to see by con- 
tact the immeasurable difference in their environ- 
ment. Indeed, those best qualified to know whereof 
they speak, assure us that in the last decade there 
has been going on among the young women of Utah 
and the Mormon allegiance generally, a growth of 
repugnance, amounting in many instances to loath- 
ing, at the very idea of polygamy. We are also 
informed that the young men are keeping pace 
with them in that regard. 

Only recently I met a gentleman, himself a 
graduate of an Eastern university, who is a mana- 
ger of a large industrial plant in southern Idaho, 
where the population is almost solidly Mormon. 
He informs me that the young men and women 
who make up a society of unusual intelligence in 
that community, cherish only sentiments of pity 
and contempt for the idea of plural marriages. 

As I am writing this article, the question of per- 
mitting Senator Smoot, a Mormon apostle but not 
a polygamist, to retain his seat is now pending. It 
is at least significant that no charges are brought 
against him as to the purity of his family life. The 
real contention of this investigation now going on, 

233 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

is that Senator Smoot represents not the people of 
Utah, but the Mormon hierarchy, and that he 
should be debarred from his seat in the Senate be- 
cause he was nominated only after formally asking 
the consent of that hierarchy. Indeed, it is con- 
tended by those opposing him, with every show of 
proof, that he would have been opposed, defeated, 
and expelled from his office as an "apostle" if he 
had not promised implicit conformity with the 
church's views and objects politically. In other 
words, it is claimed that Senator Smoot is not a free 
agent, but the tool of a powerful ecclesiastical body 
within the body politic, which is openly and often 
defiantly upholding and even promoting flagrant 
violators of the law against living in polygamy. 

When Brigham Roberts was refused admission to 
the House of Representatives it was because he was 
a confessed polygamist and not because he was a 
Mormon. Of course, the government recognizes no 
religious test, nor does it discriminate against any 
religious body per se. 

This brings me to consider another important 
feature of the Mormon problem — namely, their po- 
litical attitude to the State. Having lived among 
them for many years, I became convinced that the 
people voted almost to a man as the ecclesiastical 
authorities dictated. Whether a candidate up for 
election was a Democrat or a Republican mattered 
not in the least to the hierarchy. The question 
was, What is his attitude to our church, and what 

234 





*k 











BRIGHAM YOUNG 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

favors for the church may we expect from him if he 
is elected? The church first, and political parties 
only as incidental; and this is fearfully near the 
other aphorism, "The church first, the country 
next." Of course, if the belief and practice of any 
religious body do not contravene the established 
laws of the republic, such a principle may be en- 
tirely harmless. But when a body of religious 
devotees holding the balance of power, use that 
power unscrupulously to maintain and shield vio- 
lators of the law, it becomes pregnant with the 
gravest dangers. A prominent Western Senator 
has recently said that Mormonism controls the poli- 
tics of the Rocky Mountain region, and he sees in 
that fact a serious menace to liberty and the rights 
of the individual. He is entirely right as long as 
the present spirit with reference to v politics domi- 
nates the Mormon people. There will be no peace 
for Mormonism in America and no peace for the 
country till the individual Mormon asserts his right 
to civil and political liberty. He must cease to be 
an automaton, and learn to become a man and an 
American citizen. 

Now, a few words finally as to the future of Mor- 
monism. Most people who know personally little 
of the real conditions that obtain in the West think 
of Mormonism as polygamy. It means to them 
that and nothing more. But the two terms are far 
from being synonymous. There was a time when 
polygamy was the distinctive doctrine of Mor- 

235 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

monism. Now it is rapidly becoming a thing of 
the past. It is being relegated to the dark ages. 
As we have already seen, the coming hosts of young 
men and women who will control its future will no 
longer tolerate it. They have already scorned and 
repudiated it, not so much because the law of 
church and state condemns it, but because the law 
of the human heart, as soon as that heart has a 
little ray of light shed upon it, also condemns it. 
The man with more than one wife is fast becoming 
an object of ridicule to Mormon girls. The poor 
wives themselves are fit objects of compassion. 
The bright, independent young women now com- 
ing forward and the rank and file of the young men 
alike despise it. We may say the snake of polyg- 
amy among the Latter -Day Saints is not only 
scotched, it has had its day, and is now dead or 
dying. 

But how about Mormonism itself? Will it die? 
No. It will daily increase in strength — at least, for 
a period of years. In efficiency of organization it is 
the most pervasive and comprehensive hierarchy 
that the world has known. Its missionary en- 
thusiasm and its missionary sacrifices often put to 
shame the zeal of our Christian churches. I am 
convinced that the common people among them, 
the masses, are tremendously in earnest. I believe 
they are sincere. They believe as implicitly in 
Joseph Smith as the prophet of God as we do that 
Christ is sent of God to be the Saviour of men. 

236 






MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

They do not question the truth of " revelations ' ' 
made to their leaders. They are absolutely assured 
that all truth is with them, and the rest of the world 
is wrong. They regard themselves as the chosen of 
God, a peculiar people, basking in the sunshine of 
the Divine favor continually. Such assurance seems 
to us ridiculous, but it is their religion, and they 
believe it with all their hearts. 

They give one-tenth of all they make to the sup- 
port of the church. Hence, as a Corporation they 
are enormously rich. In Pocatello, Idaho, I was 
entertained by a railroad superintendent, who was 
receiving thirty- five hundred dollars a year and who 
contributed three dollars a month to the support of 
his parish, and thought himself very generous. His 
Mormon servant, a young man, whom he paid forty- 
five dollars a month, told me that he gladly gave 
four and a half dollars each month to the church, 
and that did not include his free-will offerings. 

The Mormon question will gradually settle itself. 
Its immediate future will be largely influenced by 
the attitude of our people and the government tow- 
ards it. Contact with the world will soften and 
gradually purify and cleanse its worst features. 
Often Mormonism has been misjudged. Religious 
fanaticism under the name of Christianity has not 
infrequently done more harm than good in dealing 
with these strange, deluded people. The Mormons 
are a small body, numbering less than a half -million. 
They are below the average of Americans in intelli- 

237 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

gence, but they are destined to become American 
citizens, and ought to be encouraged to enter into 
the spirit and genius of American citizenship. 
They are progressing rapidly in enlightenment, and 
every year marks a great gain. With all their 
faults, they are our brethren — human beings whose 
chief misfortune is that they are walking in dark- 
ness. Let us bring them to see the light. 

The individual Mormon is far better than his re- 
ligion. His religion is a strange mixture of truth 
and error, of superstition and grotesque fiction. It 
is a sort of perverted and corrupted Christianity. 
But having lived among the Mormons, and coming 
more or less into contact with them, socially and 
religiously, I am prepared to say that as friends, 
neighbors, citizens, and members of society, the Mor- 
mon of to-day is greatly in advance of Mormonism 
as a religious system. In the common instincts of 
humanity the present-day Mormon resembles very 
closely other people. He is a good husband and 
father. He is honest and truthful. He rarely, if 
ever, indulges even in tobacco, and never drinks; 
for temperance, meaning total abstinence, is a 
foundation pillar in his faith. No one ever thinks 
of locking his door at night when among the Mor- 
mons, and nowhere is the personal safety of the in- 
dividual or the security of his property more abso- 
lutely guaranteed. They love each other, and treat 
their Gentile friends with uniform courtesy and re- 
spectful consideration. They pay the greatest rev- 

238 



MORMONISM AND THE MORMONS 

erence to those in authority over them, and cherish 
the profoundest respect for the memory of their 
dead heroes, saints, and martyrs. 

Mormonism will survive, but not the Mormonism 
of to-day — still less that of twenty-five years ago. 
Some day it will be so changed and modified with 
the leaven of the Christian Gospel that it will be re- 
spectable among the various religious bodies of the 
land. Not denunciation, not persecution, not blind 
and undiscriminating hatred and prejudice, but the 
spirit of a wise, gentle, Christian judgment will 
hasten the day of its renaissance and reform into a 
purer environment. 

If the Christian people of this great republic, the 
churches with money and the broad-minded philan- 
thropists among us, really wish to help solve the 
Mormon problem, let them turn on the light and 
thus help us to drive away the darkness. Let a 
Christian church be built in every town and in every 
village. And then, for this is scarcely less impor- 
tant, let these churches be in the control of men of 
broad-minded and generous sympathy. The petty, 
narrow, bigoted man, who is the ecclesiastic and 
nothing more, will do harm rather than good. But 
for the man who can get at his Mormon brother's 
point of view, and is big enough to believe him just 
as honest and just as sincere as himself, there is 
abundant opportunity for a helpful and illuminat- 
ing work. Then schools are needed. Let the 
church plant and generously sustain Christian 

2 39 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

schools, with teachers who have loving hearts and 
much faith. Where, finally, would well - selected 
libraries to attract the young people, now at last 
wakening up to the privileges of culture and educa- 
tion, do a more blessed work? The night is far 
spent, the day is almost at hand. 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE RED-MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

IN the missionary district allotted to me as bishop, 
comprising the whole of Wyoming and Idaho, 
there were several Indian reservations. In Wyo- 
ming there was the Wind River Reservation, ceded 
by solemn contract to the Indians by our govern- 
ment nearly forty years ago. The reservation in- 
cluded within its area a large body of land in the 
valley of the Wind River in central Wyoming, ex- 
tending about one hundred miles north and south 
and an equal distance east and west, or ten thou- 
sand square miles altogether, making a total of over 
six millions of acres. Parts of two tribes were lo- 
cated on this magnificent domain — namely, the 
Shoshones, to whom was assigned the northern, and 
the Arapahoes, who occupied the southern half. 
As these tribes had been to a certain extent hered- 
itary foes, some apprehension was felt lest their close 
proximity might lead to a renewal of hostilities. 
But it is a pleasant duty to record that, on the whole, 
their relations have been friendly, although each has 
steadfastly maintained its tribal exclusiveness and 
has as little dealings one with the other as possible. 

241 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

No Arapahoe maiden would think of wedding a 
Shoshone youth, or vice versa. It goes without 
saying that each tribe is proudly conscious of its 
vast superiority to the other, and is wont to regard 
its neighbor with ill-disguised contempt. 

Both can justly boast of a history replete with 
heroic achievements and martial deeds. Both have 
given birth to noted chieftains whose valor still in- 
spires them. Few Indian warriors have been more 
worthy of admiration and won their leadership by 
greater inherent power and genius than Black Coal, 
of the Arapahoes, or the venerable Washakie, of the 
Shoshones. 

In physical form and feature the contrast be- 
tween the two tribes is quite marked, so that even 
a casual observer soon learns to discriminate the 
one from the other. The Arapahoe is uniformly 
taller, with a face rather more open and intelligent 
than the Shoshone ; while the latter is more stolid, 
and in countenance suggests the cunning and 
rather secretive traits, combined with courage, for 
which he is famous. 

The religious care of these two tribes was com- 
mitted by General Grant to the Episcopal Church 
when he parcelled out the various reservations 
among the churches during his administration. 
While this distribution on the part of the President 
was intended to be fair, and aimed to provide for 
the spiritual interests of the Indians, it did not give 
permanent and exclusive control to any religious 

242 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

body. Hence, as time advanced, the Roman Cath- 
olics have been led to establish a mission and school 
among the Arapahoes which has accomplished ex- 
cellent results. 

During my episcopate in the West it was my 
privilege to erect a large school building for the 
education of Indian girls. The money to se- 
cure this result was given in response to my ap- 
peals to Christian friends of the Indian in the 
East. 

When at last the success of the enterprise had 
been assured, a day was appointed for the laying of 
the corner-stone. The Indians naturally felt very 
grateful to me for my interest in the education of 
their children, and proposed to celebrate the corner- 
stone-laying by giving me a feast. The two chiefs, 
Washakie and Black Coal, therefore waited on the 
Indian agent and laid the matter before him. They 
told him that the big chief of the White Robes (re- 
ferring to me) had secured funds wherewith to build 
them a school for their children and their childrens' 
children ; and that he was coming on a certain Sat- 
urday to lay the corner-stone; that they proposed 
to give the bishop a banquet in recognition of his 
kindness, and that they had come to him to ask 
him for the oxen for the bishop's feast. Cattle on 
the reservation belonging to the government could 
only be killed by the agent's consent. 

"How many oxen do you wish to kill for the 
bishop?" the agent inquired. 

17 243 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

"Three," said the chiefs. "The bishop heap big 
man. He heap eat." 

"Very well," said the agent, "you may kill three 
oxen for the bishop." 

The feast itself was a memorable affair. Both 
tribes were largely represented. Of course, I had to 
make a speech. But as I could not speak a word 
of Arapahoe or of Shoshone, and my audience 
could not understand English, I had to have two 
interpreters, one for each tribe. The Rev. John 
Roberts, my faithful missionary, suggested to me 
that it would be well if I should write out my 
speech in full. He also tried to impress upon my 
mind the necessity of using the very simplest lan- 
guage and of being exceedingly brief. I therefore 
sat down and expressed as plainly as I could on 
paper my pleasure in being present on such an auspi- 
cious occasion, and hoped that the proposed school 
building would prove a great blessing to their chil- 
dren, and that the parents would see to it that all 
their little ones secured a good education. I also 
reminded them that religion and the love of God 
would be taught there so that their girls would be- 
come good and useful wives and mothers. 

After I had finished, the clergyman, with great 
hesitation and modesty, asked if he could read what 
I had written. I shall never forget the look of 
hopeless despair that spread over his countenance 
as he proceeded. At last he said: 

"Bishop, will you pardon my presumption if I 

244 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

say that this will never do ? The sentiments are all 
right, but the interpreters know but little English, 
and they will never be able to understand your 
language." 

I begged him to run his pencil through the manu- 
script, and simplify and change it as he thought 
best. When he handed it back to me I felt like a 
school-boy whose first composition had been cor- 
rected by the teacher. Even with all his care I 
had a difficult time of it. It was possible to utter a 
few words only at a time and then pause ; when first 
the Arapahoe interpreter struggled with it, and as 
soon as the meaning had fully dawned upon his in- 
telligence, he would turn around and translate it to 
his people. Then I had to repeat slowly the same 
simple words to the Shoshone interpreter, who 
would go through a similar performance, and the 
aid of the missionary would frequently be necessary 
to illuminate the meaning. I was most grateful 
that my speech was no longer, for it seemed an in- 
terminable length of time before I got through. 
But the loud grunts and exclamations of approval 
with which they punctuated my sentences as I pro- 
ceeded gave me no little encouragement. 

At the close of the function the big chiefs came 
up and extended their hands to thank me for all 
that had been done. 

The mention of this school leads me to say that 
the government has made and is making most lib- 
eral provision for the education of the red-man. 

245 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

On nearly all the reservations large and well- 
equipped stone or brick school-houses have been 
erected, and^ the law of compulsory education, 
strictly enforced, brings the elements of a good 
common -school education within the reach of all. 
In many instances boarding and day schools are 
conducted by the various religious bodies, thus sup- 
plementing the excellent work of the government 
schools and imparting to the young a knowledge of 
Christian truth. 

Moreover, it is frequently the aim of these schools 
to teach not only the text -books usually pursued, 
but also to impart much useful technical knowledge. 
The boys are made familiar with the use of tools 
and taken through a course of manual-training, and 
also taught the scientific principles of farming. 
The girls are instructed, under kind and competent 
teachers, to cut out and make garments, to make 
lace, to cook and wash, and to be neat and orderly 
in their habits. Indeed, with both sexes the ob- 
ject constantly aimed at is to send forth the young 
from the schools fitted and equipped to support 
themselves, and to take their places in American 
life and civilization as useful members of society. 

So far as the education of the young is concerned, 
I do not hesitate to say that no criticism can justly 
lie against the United States government as to its 
attitude towards that important question. When 
one considers how excellent the schools are, and 
how wise and generous the provisions of the State 

246 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

for the education of the children, he is led to wonder 
at the very slow progress the Indian has made for 
the last fifty years along the path of independence 
and self-support. 

Why, then, has not the red-man advanced more 
rapidly ? 

In answering this question I do not hesitate to 
say that the reservation system adopted by our 
government is largely responsible for the fact that 
the Indian has practically stood still — retaining his 
savage habits and customs and acquiring little 
knowledge to aid him in the struggle of life. In- 
deed, by this system he has been kept in ignorance 
of the problem of self-support. It ought to have 
been apparent to our government that any race, 
overpowered by a stronger and more intelligent 
race, constantly driven to sections more and more 
isolated, their means of subsistence destroyed and 
the inferior race finally disarmed and fenced in, and 
kept apart by themselves, where in order to live 
they must be fed and clothed and cared for like so 
many prisoners or slaves, must inevitably remain in 
statu quo. That has been the policy of our govern- 
ment. We have said to the red- man: "You are not 
fit for citizenship and the responsibilities of civilized 
life. You are a lot of treacherous and dangerous 
savages, and we propose to keep you from harming 
us by driving you as far as we can from the haunts 
of decent men, and then penning you in by yourselves 
and keeping you there. If you leave your reserva- 

247 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

tion we shall drive you back at the point of the 
bayonet. We shall not allow the white man to 
come near you or disturb you, and you shall have 
no contact with him. To keep you quiet, we will 
clothe you and feed you at no cost whatever to 
yourselves. To eat and sleep and stay within your 
pens is all we ask of you." 

To our national shame, it must be said that we 
have frequently broken faith with these poor peo- 
ple, and demoralizing and wretched as was our con- 
tract with them, we have not always kept it. Again 
and again as the tide of population has gone west- 
ward the Indian reservation has been surrounded 
by the farms and villages of the white man, and the 
government has yielded to the greed and rapacity 
of our people, and has said to the red-man: "These 
lands of yours are very valuable, and we need them 
for our own people. You must move farther west. 
We shall give you a new reservation, and you must 
sell this one. The money shall be yours, and with 
it we shall build you schools and supply you with 
farming implements." And so the guileless and 
untutored ward of Uncle Sam has pulled up stakes 
and moved on, realizing that to resist would be ut- 
terly unavailing. And so it has happened that the 
American Indian has been transformed from a sav- 
age brave and fearless and free, full of adventure 
and rejoicing in his wild and nomadic life, to a sav- 
age broken in spirit, cringing before the white man 
whom he has been taught to hate and distrust, 

248 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

every motive and means of improvement deliber- 
ately taken from him. Can we blame him for not 
learning our ways when by our own act we segre- 
gate him completely from us and keep him where 
he has no chance even of observing how the white 
man lives? 

Granted that in the earlier years of our contact 
with the Indian it was for a time necessary to keep 
him thus separate to save him from extermination, 
surely no one will now claim that it was either 
necessary, or wise, or statesmanlike to perpetuate 
such a system anywhere, one day longer than the 
best interests of the Indian justified. No people on 
the face of the earth so treated could help being 
demoralized and losing their self-respect. The 
wonder is that after so many decades of such treat- 
ment on our part they are not hopelessly ruined. 

The late Bishop Whipple, of Minnesota, who gave 
much of his life during the earlier years of his epis- 
copate to the Indian cause, said: "I submit to 
every man the question, whether the time has not 
come for a nation to hear the cry of wrong, if not 
for the sake of the heathen, then for the sake of the 
memory of our friends whose bones are bleaching 
on our prairies." Nearly a half-century ago Helen 
Hunt Jackson closed the preface of her Century of 
Dishonor with these words: ''It is a shame which 
the American nation ought not to lie under, for the 
American people, as a people, are not unjust. If 
there be one thing which they believe in more than 

249 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

any other, and mean that every man on this con- 
tinent shall *have, it is fair-play. And as soon as 
they fairly understand how cruelly it has been de- 
nied to the Indian, they will rise up and demand it 
for him." 

Has the reservation system been abandoned ? 

That the government has slowly been awakened 
to the injustice of the system so inevitably calcu- 
lated to demoralize the Indian and rob him of all 
prospect of self-support and self-respect, we may 
now confidently assert. A better day is dawning 
for this unfortunate people. The policy of the gov- 
ernment as now plainly and positively announced is 
to break up the reservations. The method adopted 
in brief is the following: A commission is appointed 
by the government to reside on the several reserva- 
tions and confer with the Indians until a satisfac- 
tory adjustment can be arrived at. One hundred 
and sixty acres of land are allotted to the head of 
the family and eighty acres in addition to each 
member of the family. These allotments are not 
made arbitrarily but in furtherance of the indi- 
vidual preference of the Indians in each case. 
After all the land has thus been allotted, in sever- 
alty, to the various families on the reservation, there 
is, of course, a very large acreage of unallotted land 
to be sold to the highest bidder. The government 
wisely superintends the sale of the Indian lands, 
and the proceeds go into a fund for the benefit of 
the tribe. Such objects as schools, farming imple- 

250 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

ments, irrigating ditches and better equipment gen- 
erally being chiefly considered. 

Worthy Indians have nothing to fear and much 
to hope for from the proximity of the white man 
settled and domiciled in large numbers in his very 
midst, his rights being safeguarded by the paternal 
interest and care of Uncle Sam. The Indian Office 
in Washington, through its Indian resident repre- 
sentative, now called superintendent, and special 
disbursing agent and his employes, is doing all in 
its power, sparing neither money or means to aid 
and encourage the Indians to build up their home 
farms and ranches. The material aid which will at 
first be given will not long be needed, but the super- 
vision of the superintendent and his assistants will 
be required for some years to come. 

In the case of the reservations with which I am 
personally familiar, the very anticipation of having 
their lands divided up, in severalty, has had a most 
wholesome effect. There the majority of the Ind- 
ians have already learned or are steadily learning 
to adopt the white men's habits as to farming and 
taking care of themselves. Many of them have 
good farms, with crops of from ten to twenty acres 
of grain, and in some instances far more, with an 
equal amount of hay. 

Despite the discouraging conditions to which I 
have alluded, the cause of religion and morality has 
been much advanced among the Indians. For this 
result much credit must be given the government 

2 5* 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

schools, where intelligent and sympathetic teachers 
have done much to elevate the tone of their pupils. 
The efforts of the government in this direction have 
also been largely reinforced by the various churches 
whose educational work has been noteworthy. 

Polygamy, which was formerly prevalent, is now 
forbidden by the Indian Office. While the older 
couples who have lived as man and wife for many 
years are advised to be legally united in marriage, 
the younger people are not allowed to marry other- 
wise than in due form and after license issued by 
the United States superintendent. 

The whole country is to be congratulated in hav- 
ing as the commissioner of Indian affairs, so sane 
and efficient and sympathetic a friend of the red- 
man as Mr. Francis Leupp. It is no disparagement 
to any of his predecessors in that most important 
office — and some of them have been excellent 
Christian gentlemen — to say that in Mr. Leupp the 
government has a representative who really knows 
the Indian problem and how to handle it, and who 
also has the courage of his convictions. He has 
gained his knowledge not by reading sentimental 
books about Indian wrongs, but by twenty years of 
intimate contact with the red-man himself. His 
splendid gifts are consecrated to the cause of amel- 
iorating the condition of this unhappy people, and 
his method is as widely differentiated from that of 
his predecessors as day from night. 

It is the method which has for its underlying 

252 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

motive the conviction that the Indian must become, 
as soon as possible, no longer a distinct and separate 
charge upon the government, an unassimilated race 
having no part in its affairs, but thoroughly identi- 
fied with its life and work. To this end he would 
have him learn to labor and pay for his own bread 
by the sweat of his brow. Here are some of his 
practical suggestions: He says, "As fast as an Ind- 
ian of either mixed or full blood is capable of tak- 
ing care of himself it is our duty to set him upon his 
feet and sever forever the ties which bind him 
either to his tribe — in the communal sense — or to 
the government. This principle must become op- 
erative in respect to both land and money. We 
must end the un-American absurdity of keeping one 
class of our people in a condition of so many un- 
divided portions of a common lump. Each Indian 
must be recognized as an individual and so treated, 
just as each white man is. . . . Thanks to the late 
Henry L. Dawes, of Massachusetts, we have for 
eighteen years been individualizing the Indian as 
an owner of real estate by breaking up, one at a 
time, the reservations set apart for whole tribes 
and establishing each Indian as a separate land- 
holder on his own account: thanks to John F. 
Lacey, of Iowa, I hope that we shall soon be mak- 
ing the same sort of division of the tribal funds. 
At first, of course, the government must keep its 
protecting hand on every Indian's property after it 
has been assigned to him by book and deed; then 

?53 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

as one or another shows himself capable of passing 
out from tinder this tutelage he should be set fully- 
free and given 'the white man's chance,' with the 
white man's obligation to balance it. 

" Finally, we must strive in every way possible to 
make the Indian an active factor in the up-building 
of the community in which he is going to live. The 
local frontier theory that he is a sort of necessary 
nuisance, surviving from a remote period, like the 
sage-brush and the giant cactus, must be dispelled, 
and the way to dispel it is to turn him into a posi- 
tive benefit. In short, our aim ought to be to keep 
him moving steadily down the path which leads 
from his close domain of artificial restraints and 
artificial protection towards the broad area of in- 
dividual liberty enjoyed by the ordinary citizen. 
The process of general readjustment must be grad- 
ual, but it should be carried forward as fast as it 
can be with presumptive security for the Indian's 
little possessions. . . . The leading-strings which 
have tied the Indian to the Treasury ever since he 
began to own anything of value have been a curse 
to him. They have kept him an economic nursling 
long past the time when he ought to have been able 
to take a few steps alone. The tendency of what- 
ever crude training in money matters he has had 
for the last half-century has been towards making 
him an easy victim to such waves of civic heresy as 
swept over the country in the early nineties. That 
is not the sort of politics into which we wish the 

2 54 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

Indian to plunge as he assumes the responsibilities 
of citizenship." 

Agreeably to this most sensible policy, the allot- 
ment of land to each Indian on the Wind River 
Reservation is now practically completed. A few of 
the disaffected old-timers have refused to accept 
allotments, but in every case their wives and chil- 
dren have taken them, so that there are only a few 
without allotments. 

The land is selected by the Indians themselves. 
To those few who have refused to select, allotments 
will probably be assigned. There is plenty of good 
land for all, and when the diminished or unsold por- 
tion of the reservation is thrown open to settlement, 
according to the present policy of the government, 
there will be thousands of acres of good land left to 
be located by settlers. 

The ceded portion of the Shoshone Reservation 
was thrown open to settlement on August 15, 1906. 
The effect cannot but be beneficial to the Indian in 
every way. First, in that it will bring civilization 
nearer his home and give him constantly an object- 
lesson as to modern methods of agriculture, and the 
care of stock, and the thrift of the white man gen- 
erally. 

Again, the sale of these surplus lands will provide 
means for the improvement of the Indians' allotments 
in the way of funds for the construction of irrigating 
canals and ditches for their farms, one hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars of the purchase-money having 

2 55 



MY PEOPLE OP THE PLAINS 

been set aside by the treaty for that one purpose. 
Fifty thousand dollars of the same funds have been 
appropriated for schools. The balance is to be used 
to constitute a general welfare and improvement 
fund to be expended for the benefit of the Indians 
in the way they may in council direct and the 
secretary of the interior may approve. The Ind- 
ians on this reservation will also be made glad this 
fall by the distribution of fifty dollars in cash per 
capita. 

Thousands of dollars have already been expended 
by the government in the construction of irrigating 
canals and ditches for the Indian allotments, and 
this year one hundred thousand dollars more is 
available for the same purpose. This money is ad- 
vanced by the government, to be refunded by the 
proceeds of the sale of lands already ceded. 

Moreover, every allotment of arable land made to 
an Indian is either now or will be ere long under 
ditch so that it can be irrigated. The canals and 
lateral ditches are being constructed by the Indians 
themselves, with their teams, under the supervision 
of experienced engineers. Great numbers of Ind- 
ians of both tribes are at this present moment 
thus employed under pay of one dollar and a half 
per day and three dollar per day for man and team. 

It would not be possible to place all the reserva- 
tion under ditch. The western line or boundary is 
the summit of the main range of the Rocky Moun- 
tains or Continental Divide. But what cannot be 

256 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

irrigated is valuable timber or grazing land, con- 
taining also much mineral and coal and oil. 

When the reservation was set apart for the 
Shoshones, Chief Washakie insisted on having 
mountains and rivers as boundaries. When it was 
suggested to him by the United States commissioners 
sent out to treat with him that the future home of 
his tribe would be defined by latitude and longitude, 
or, as they tried to explain to Washakie, by the 
stars, the veteran chief replied with a twinkle in his 
eye: "By-and-by, by-and-by, I hope we may all 
meet there" — pointing heavenward — "but, for the 
present, give me mountains and rivers for the 
boundaries of my home." 

Is the Indian religious ? Undoubtedly. There is 
no race by nature more deeply religious than the 
red-man. Religion, as he conceives it, enters into 
every relation of life. This is far from saying that 
he is a Christian as yet. But it may be asserted 
without fear of contradiction that the story of the 
cross appeals strongly to his imagination, and he 
yields himself readily to the power and fascination 
of the Gospel of Christ. Among the marvels of 
Christian triumph during the last half-century none 
is more remarkable than the great work of evan- 
gelization accomplished by Bishop Hare among the 
twenty thousand Sioux in South Dakota. He has 
scores of congregations, with native Indian cate- 
chists and clergy, and their progress in all that goes 
to make earnest and faithful disciples of Christ is 

257 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

beyond question. Of course, it takes time and 
much faith and patience to accomplish such results. 
Bishop Hare has been among the Sioux for over 
thirty years. In their native faith, before they ac- 
cept Christianity, there are certain general beliefs, 
but the religious practices of the various tribes 
differ more or less. 

The Shoshones are rather more superstitious than 
religious. They are not as devout naturally as 
some other tribes, but light-hearted, happy-go-lucky 
people, who take even death with a laugh. The 
Arapahoes, on the other hand, are far more re- 
ligious and devout, confidently believing that they, 
and they alone, are God's chosen people, heirs of 
salvation and of the life everlasting in "our home." 
Indeed, in many respects their religion is similar to 
that of the Old Testament and God's covenant with 
the children of Israel. They have the story of the 
creation, the entrance of death into the world, and 
the promise of redemption. They also believe in the 
resurrection of the body and eternal life. Moreover, 
they look for a savior of their race. Their religious 
ceremonies and sacred rites remind one forcibly of the 
ancient Hebrews and of the idolatry of the Canaan- 
ites combined. They are without doubt the remnant 
of an ancient people who, according to their own 
traditions, crossed over from the "old earth" to 
this "new earth" by way of the northwest, passing 
over frozen water. They came hither to escape op- 
pression; for their country was taken, they them- 
es 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

selves were cruelly treated, and their children slain 
by ''strangers," the Gentiles. This is the name by 
which they now designate the whites. The word 
" pale face " has no place in their language or in that 
of the Shoshones, nor have the expressions "great 
spirit," "happy hunting-ground," and other time- 
honored phrases. 

The Shoshones have a simple religion. They call 
the Creator "Our Father," and believe in the trans- 
migration of souls after death in the land beyond 
the setting sun, which they claim is their home. 
They formerly practised suttee, but now the 
favorite horse of the deceased is claimed instead of 
the widow. Their dominant religious conviction, 
however, is the constant dread of a visible demon, 
manikin in shape. Their medicine-men claim to see 
him, and he shoots at them with flint -tipped arrows. 
All their misfortunes and illnesses they ascribe to 
this nemesis. This superstition probably had its 
origin in the existence of a pygmy race of aborigines 
concerning whom both tribes have definite and re- 
liable traditions. A great many of their customs are 
identical with those of the East Indians or Hindus 
given by Abbe Dubois in his Hindu Manners, Cus- 
toms, and Ceremonies. The religious customs of both 
tribes bear out the truth that the cradle of the hu- 
man race was in the Orient. 

As with us whites we look to the East whence we 
came, so the Shoshone looks to the West. Ere he 
rolls himself up in his blanket for the night, he goes 
is 259 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

through his simple vesper devotions, consisting of a 
plaintive, low whistle, accompanied with a little jig- 
ging dance, with his face towards the sunset, for 
there, he says, is his home land. From the West, 
too, he looks for the great pilgrim host at the re- 
turn of the dead. 

So also to the Arapahoe the Northwest is the 
sacred quarter. With his face set in that direction 
he beats upon his breast when in distress, and offers 
his propitiatory sacrifice with prayers fervent and 
strong. 

During the earlier period of the ghost-dance, or 
the so-called "Messiah craze," of the fall of 1886, 
there was great excitement on the Wind River Res- 
ervation. This was before the craze had reached 
other tribes. The Indians assembled and danced 
frantically all night long for weeks together. Run- 
ners had arrived with the startling news that the 
great host of the dead was advancing from the 
West, and that "Our Father," God, was with them 
leading them on. At that time extensive forest- 
fires in the mountains near by filled these valleys 
with a smoky haze, and the sky for weeks at sunset 
was a flaming red. These phenomena added weight 
to the strange tidings brought them, and the Ind- 
ians were insane with excitement and expectation. 
Visiting Indians who came from other tribes caught 
the contagion and enthusiasm, and returned home 
full of fervor to spread the news far and wide. In- 
deed, the Wind River Reservation was the Mecca of 

260 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

the ghost -dancers, the cardinal doctrines of whose 
faith were the return of the dead to life again, the 
emancipation of the Indians by the restoration of 
the grand old times, the return of the buffalo which 
once roamed by thousands on the plain, and, above 
all, the utter annihilation of the white man. 

Any review of the native religion of the Indian 
would be imperfect that failed to reckon with the 
medicine-man. He still has power as a religious 
factor, not so much as a teacher of heathenism as 
one supposed to be able to diagnose diseases and to 
prescribe means to overcome baneful influences and 
the work of evil spirits which cause sickness and 
misfortune. For instance, a gopher (a diminutive 
sort of prairie-dog) has drawn near a tepee at night, 
and cast a spell over a whole family; or a wolf has 
howled on a neighboring bluff, and thus called a 
member of the family away from earth. It is a 
serious case, and a horse must be sacrificed in the 
mountains to break this spell of the gopher, or a 
wolf-skin has to be procured and hung up in the 
tepee to checkmate its companion of the evil howl. 
Sometimes the medicine-man may pretend to be 
puzzled with a case. He decides that he must fall 
into a trance and explore in the land of the dead 
where all things are known and ascertain the cause 
ot the sickness or calamity and find a remedy. 
Presently he wakes up and has a marvellous tale to 
tell. Should he have a streak of good luck, and 
many of his patients recover, "the power" or 

261 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

''medicine" is strong within him, and he has a 
large practice, and many horses and other fees are 
paid him. Should he unfortunately lose his patients 
he claims that his " power" is in abeyance, and he 
retires from practice for a season until he becomes 
charged with the "power" again. 

Arapahoe medicine - men also hypnotize their 
patients occasionally, and sometimes resort to faith- 
cure. With massage, blowing chewed roots from 
his mouth on the bare body of the patient like a 
Chinaman dampening his clothes, he also makes use 
of a peculiar way of cupping — sucking with his lips 
the blood through the skin of the sick person. So 
strong is this suction that for many days the por- 
tion of the body thus treated will remain bloodshot 
and bruised. Herb teas are also administered by 
them, often with very beneficial effects. 

Each medicine-man has qualified in a way pecul- 
iarly his own. The most famous one now on the 
reservation claims that he got his diploma from the 
powers of the air. One day, lying down in his 
tepee, he heard a noise from above calling him by 
name. Stepping outside he saw a "paper" floating 
down through the air towards him. He at once 
ran up one of the slender tepee poles like a chip- 
munk, and standing tiptoe on its topmost end 
reached out and seized the document as it passed 
by. Thus, he says, he got his "papers." 

Another says that he was made a medicine -man 
in his youth. He was left an orphan, friendless and 

262 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

very poor. One day he travelled out on a wide 
plain alone to bemoan his fate. There he seated 
himself and wept and wailed. Looking up, he saw 
squatting by him an eagle, a bear, and a badger, 
these three. Being asked by them why he wept, he 
told them his tale of woe. They bade him be of 
good cheer, for they would make of him a medicine- 
man. Thereupon the eagle plucked off one of his 
talons and presented it to him, saying: "By this I 
bestow on you all knowledge that is above the 
earth." The bear likewise handed him one of her 
claws, endowing him with all knowledge on the 
earth, and finally the badger, bowing, passed him 
one of his claws, thus giving him the key to the 
knowledge of all things under the earth. "Here 
they are," said Wolf -foot (for that is his name), 
pointing to the three claws he had on a buckskin 
string around his neck. 

The more intelligent Indians and all those who 
have been educated in our schools believe in the 
salutary effect of the treatment of the white man's 
doctor, and seek his help in sickness. Of the others, 
only the very old and superstitious still cling to the 
medicine -man. 

This brings me to consider, finally, one objection 
against educating the Indian children. It is said 
that when they return to the reservation, after being 
graduated from our schools in the East or elsewhere, 
they resume their blankets and relapse into their 
old ways and savage customs. This is often par- 

263 



MY PEOPLE OF THE PLAINS 

tially true; and it will continue to be the case as 
long as the reservation is the only destination of the 
young man or woman who returns from the school. 
It were unreasonable to expect it to be otherwise. 
To compel such young people to go back and live 
among those who still retain Indian customs and 
dress, with the hope that they will steadfastly ad- 
here to the dress of the hated white man, is absurd. 
Such youth are exposed to ridicule and taunts, 
until, life becoming intolerable, they simply yield 
to the pressure, and cease the struggle of being 
peculiar and obnoxious to their own people. The 
fact that they assume again the dress of the Ind- 
ian does not necessarily mean that their school- 
training is lost upon them. As with the white man, 
so with the Indian, the outward dress and appear- 
ance does not constitute the man, and we may be 
sure that the educated boy or girl never sinks to 
the same level he once occupied before his school- 
days. But when the reservation system is broken 
up — and let us rejoice that it is now rapidly disap- 
pearing — the educated youth will return to a com- 
munity quite different from that which has hitherto 
awaited him. He will go back to live where his 
neighbors and companions will be chiefly white 
people ; and having learned at the schools the white 
man's life and understood its advantages, he will 
continue to live that life, and intelligently and sym- 
pathetically commend it to his own people. 

Under the new regime the day of the tepee and 

264 



THE RED MAN AND UNCLE SAM 

blanket is doomed ; as the old order passes away the 
coming generations will catch the spirit of the new 
era awaiting the red-man, and will gradually be- 
come incorporated into our body politic, until at last 
the Indian's separate individuality as a race will be- 
come a memory of the past. 



THE END 



</-£. 



LBJa'- 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





017 061 192 5' 



